


In the Name of Love - A Milippa Fanfic

by dolcewrites



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst, Canon diversion, F/F, Klingon-Federation war, Minor Character Death, Shenzhou-era Flashbacks, Slow Burn, milippa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-03-29 21:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13935330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dolcewrites/pseuds/dolcewrites
Summary: Philippa prepares to go aboard the Klingon flagship for a dialogue, despite Michael's protests.At least one of their instincts were right.





	1. Build Me a Bridge of Faith

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Across The Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12761715) by [nomisunrider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomisunrider/pseuds/nomisunrider). 



> I try to update bimonthly (every fortnight), but expect it as a loose estimate. Last update: 27/3/2019

“How do I look, Michael?”

 

Philippa turned an angle at the mirror, examining her reflection. Robed in dress uniform, her hair set down in gentle waves, she was the perfect ambassador.

 

In her head, Michael Burnam’s mind raced with possible things to say that seemed… professional, diplomatic, encouraging, even. “You look hospitable,” she managed finally, giving away nothing.

 

“Good. Computer, disable standing mirror,” ordered Philippa, before turning to Michael, a smile in her eyes. “I know it’s uncustomary for Vulcans to celebrate in advance, but I can’t help but say I’m feeling good about this mission. Don’t you, Michael?”

 

A chance to forge diplomatic relations with the Klingon. Michael had her suspicions -- she would never come to understand how the Klingon would turn the tides so quickly, after only 3 months of warring. They were nowhere near to losing against Starfleet, nor were there any favourable conditions for them should they stand down instead of fight.

 

_Is this a trap?_ Michael wondered, as she has wondered every night ever since Philippa came to her with this piece of news. The Klingon had been picky about their requirements: Captain Philippa Georgiou must be the one leading the mission, and she was to bring exactly two colleagues, also of the Shenzhou, with her. Talks would be held onboard the Klingon messiah’s ship, the Sarcophagus, with limited communication between the ambassadors and Starfleet.

 

It was shady, an obvious disadvantage to the Federation. Starfleet would be a paper doll dancing around the fervent Klingon flame. Were it not for the desperation for peace, this mission would never have happened in Federation books.

 

“Michael?” Philippa prompted, knowing her too well. Michael liked to played things safe, considering every available risk that was concerned. She wouldn’t let Philippa go without a fight, she knew that.

 

“Let me come with you. Let me replace Saru or Detmer.”

 

Philippa sighed, rubbing her arm in a way that always comforted Michael. “I wish I could bring you too, Michael. But this mission… I’ll be gone for weeks, perhaps even months on end. I need someone familiar here to take care of my crew for me when I’m not present. Surely you understand that?”

 

“Saru interacts with the crew fine,” she said dryly, desperation laced with the cold.

 

“Saru is not my Number One.”

 

“At least--”

 

“Michael, I’m not gone forever. Come here.” Philippa extended her arms in an embrace, and Michael leaned into it gratefully.

 

_I’m just bidding a friend goodbye, wishing her the best of luck for the most crucial mission in the Federation for years._

 

_So why does it feel like farewell?_

 

Drawing back, Michael opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a transmission from Saru. “Bridge to Captain Georgiou. Incoming transmission from Admiral Terral.” “Route it to my ready room, Saru,” she said in reply. “That would be my send-off flowers,” she said to Michael, with a sparkle in her dark eyes. Soon enough, a hologram of the admiral spluttered to life in front of the two women, his hands folded neatly behind his back.

 

“Captain Georgiou, Commander Burnam,” he greeted calmly.

 

“Admiral Terral, greetings. Perhaps it’s time to call her Acting Captain Burnham,” she said, full of mirth. “She’ll be taking care of my ship in my absence.”

 

How does she manage to be happy at this moment? Michael wondered quietly, willing her face to remain stony. There was so much danger in every step she was to make. Surely, she knew this?

 

“Perhaps,” Terral echoed in indifference, casting nothing but a brief glance at Michael. “Captain Philippa Georgiou, you are to represent the Federation, and you are to represent humanity. For the first time ever, we’re forging relations with the Klingon. Your mission could be the crucial key to stopping this war.”

 

“I understand, Admiral. I’m prepared.”

 

“I’m sure you are.” Terral’s tall form towered over Philippa, who barely reached his chin. “Go in peace. The Federation depends on you. Live long, and prosper.”

 

Holding up his infamous Vulcan salute, he nodded at the both of them as his holographic image disappeared. Philippa turned to regard Michael for one last time, cupping her emotionless face with a hand. “Take good care of her for me,” she urged. “That’s your number one priority.”

 

Michael wanted to protest. She wanted to cry, “It’s a trap, Philippa, can’t you see? Stay here and fight with us!” But when Michael was a power of force, Philippa was an enforcer of peace. This was what she’d want, to open a dialogue.

 

She had to trust her captain.

 

“Stay safe.”

 

“You’re dismissed, Acting Captain Burnam,” Philippa said, with a twinkle in her eye. “I’ll be on my way.”

 

She followed Philippa out on the bridge anyway.

 

The last Michael saw of Philippa was her elegant form swooping inside the turbolifts, flanked by Saru and Keyla on her either side. Perhaps it was her imagination, but Michael saw the captain wink at her before the doors closed between them.

 

She lingered for a single second, before seating herself at the captain’s chair, forcing the logical side of her brain to work. “Hail the Klingon,” she instructed.

 

An image of T’Kuvma flashed onscreen.

 

“This is Commander Michael Burnam of the Federation starship USS Shenzhou. Our ambassadors are prepared to rendezvous with the Sarcophagus at the designated coordinates.”

 

“We will accept your people graciously,” replied the Klingon messiah, before ending the transmission. Michael tried to dismiss the rudeness in their diplomacy.

 

“Commander Burnam to Shenzhou Shuttle Delta. Are you ready for takeoff?” “Ready as we’ll ever be, Number One!” Philippa’s voice was filled with excited melody. “Good. Ensign, open the shuttle bay doors,” Michael said, feeling like she was setting the nail in the coffin.

 

_Focus, Michael. You have a ship to command._

 

“Get me visuals,” she ordered, watching the view in front of her. The Sarcophagus was there, looming, waiting. Soon, the tiny dot of the shuttle was into view, nearing the ship. In her head, Michael expected their reception in three… two…

 

It almost happened too fast.

 

A beam of light struck the shuttle, and the bridge watched, stunned, as it came apart in the vacuum of space.

 

Time thickened like jelly, and Michael struggled against the weight of reality, fighting the weight of her horror. Her true horror.

 

“Owosekun! Lock onto all life signs for emergency transport!” Michael’s voice was sharp, desperation forcing its way out in orders.

 

“Bryce! Hail Starfleet Command, inform them it’s a trap!” True to her words, Klingon Birds-of-Prey and other warships were beginning to decloak around the Shenzhou.

 

“Rhys! Evasive maneuver alpha-two-seven!”

 

“Bridge to transporter room, have you got them?” “We have Saru and Detmer, but we can’t locate the captain’s life signs!”

 

Michael’s heart could have stopped right there. _No, not Philippa…_

 

“Try harder!” she practically begged. “We’ll buy you time!”

 

“Shields under 10 percent!” Owosekun reported.

 

“Transporter room, we’re waiting!” Michael barked, as the Shenzhou shuddered and groaned at another hit.

 

“We can’t locate her, Commander!”

 

“Direct hit, Commander! Hull breach Decks 9 through 11!”

 

_Take good care of her for me. That’s your number one priority._

 

_Philippa, no…_

 

_That’s an order._

 

Her voice stuck in her throat, Michael began saying the sentence that any captain -- or acting captain, for that matter -- dreaded to even think of.

 

“All hands, this is the First Officer. Prepare to abandon ship.”

 

“I repeat, abandon ship.”


	2. Hold Me When You Still Can

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all I’m continuing this :D Thank you so much for your support for this story so far, it’s given me a lot of motivation to continue this.
> 
> I’ll probably have a chapter-per-week updating schedule, but please don’t chase me when a pitchfork when I vanish for two months lmao

__  
The hospital in Starbase 42 was expansive, private, and quiet, all set apart from the Shenzhou’s Sickbay apart from the latter. Even so, soft groans could be heard from different wings, hell, even the different sectioned-off beds that flanked Michael’s. But she didn’t need to ask to know that they were all from the _Shenzhou._

_Her crew._

The grief hasn’t set in yet. Instead, it froze into a wall of stone around her, completely shutting down all emotions she could witness. Her logical part of her brain was propelling her, and now, it sat her in silence as a doctor ran a scanning device over her body.

“Minor bruises and scratches, but otherwise, you’re in good health, Commander,” said the doctor quietly, securing a small electric bracelet around her wrist. “You’re free to roam, however, it’s best that you’re returned to your ward at 1800 hours for dinner.”

“How long until the Admiral arrives?” she asked in matched tone, reduced to barely a whisper.

The doctor shook her head. “From what we’re informed, not for another 2 days, if they were to travel maximum warp.”

“Thank you, Doctor…”

“Symons,” finished the young woman.

“Doctor Symons,” Michael nodded to her, before shuffling off her bed and walking straight out of her ward. Judging by what the doctors had been discussing amongst one another, the entire crew of the Shenzhou was gathered on the same level.

_Keyla and Saru…_

Instinctively, she made her way to the Intensive Care Unit. Sure enough, there were two figures, all heavily wrapped in medical linen and surrounded by machinery.

Saru stirred a little at her entrance, and she made way for him first.

“Is someone there?” he asked, his voice a little more than a rasp.

“It’s Burnham.”

The Kelpien opened his eyes, revealing a sight that drew a small gasp from Michael. In place of his beady green eyes was a murky gray cloud that hovered between both irises.

“You’re blind.”

Involuntarily, his tongue clicked in his throat, signalising fear. “It would appear to be so,” he answered shakily.

“Reversible?”

“Unlikely.”

They both knew what it meant, as they sat opposite one another on the bed. A career, a blossoming one at that, for the first Kelpien in Starfleet -- struck away by one careless Klingon warship. The way Saru lowered his head and hunched his body told Michael everything. He was devastated. “I’m sorry, Saru,” she murmured. “You were a fine officer.”

Almost as a reflex, Saru reached up to stroke his threat ganglia, which was generously extended. “It hasn’t… retracted since what happened aboard the Shenzhou Delta,” he explained.

Michael’s heart gave a painful squeeze. She may not have always agreed with Saru, but she always knew, begrudgingly, that he always had the solutions when she was at a lost, and he was, God forbid, often right. But now, both of them were in stunned silence, not knowing what to do, or how to proceed.

There was no crew without a ship. There was no crew without a captain.

“If I may inquire…” Saru had closed his eyes again, lying down with his face towards the ceiling. “What is the status of Lieutenant Detmer?”

“I… I haven’t seen her yet,” murmured Michael, scooting off the edge of the bed. “She’s right across you.”

“Please,” gestured the Kelpien, his hands fidgeting nervously.

She slipped off to approach her bed. She was blockaded with a regenerative force field, so Michael read the displayed data PAAD instead, at least what was accessible to visitors.

“Well?” Saru called softly, in an attempt to not wake the lieutenant.

“I’m… Saru, I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “Keyla is unconscious right now, I… I don’t know if she’ll make it.”

“Well… the impact did hit her the hardest,” he stammered, obviously shocked. “Thank you so much, Commander.”

“Michael,” she prompted softly, stroking his hand, which curled around hers in fear. “Just call me Michael, Saru.”

“Of course,” he opened his foggy eyes again, staring at nothing. “If it is possible, I’d prefer to be left in solitude.” Michael took that as a cue to leave, her padding footsteps echoing after her as she left the ward, numb. The shock barrelled into her, and try as she might, she couldn’t feel anything. No grief, no sorrow, no pain, not rocking on all fours sobbing after her losses. It was just her, and a sizzling electricity that hummed at her ears softly.

Michael made her rounds around the different wards, checking on the 176 members of the crew. To her relief, most of them were only bruised or scratched from bumping into a console or tripping on the way to the battle stations. Otherwise…

They were subdued, only talking in hushed tones, some crying openly. It was the grief, the worry, Michael could sense it, but she was helpless, too overwhelmed by her own experiences to comfort or even talk to her crew.

Michael had only seen this once. The last time this had happened, Captain Philippa Georgiou was with her.

***

“ _Captain’s Log, supplemental. Following the death of beloved crewman Jasmine Sullivan during an away mission, the crew morale has been observed as to deteriorate. It is the third day since her absence, and it has been impacting the crew hard. I have been providing one-on-one grief counselling for some of the crewmen, and it is my wishes that over time, the crew learn to accept the loss, and serve the Shenzhou in her honour and memory.”_

The door to Philippa’s quarters chimed, and as soon as she opened her mouth, she watched Michael stride in, her hands folded neatly behind her back.

“At ease, Michael,” she said, turning to examine the cosmos from her telescope, seated on a purple sofa near the windows. She patted the seat next to her, and Michael sat down, crossing her legs neatly on the smooth lilac surface.

“You were occupied with a task before my arrival,” she noted.

Philippa let out a small smile. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I finished it in your presence. Help yourself, you know where the synthesiser is.”

In the corner of her eye, Philippa noted that she didn’t move an inch, but stayed paralysed in her spot; the only thing that set her apart from a statue was the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders. She knew this side of Michael well -- she would sometimes freeze where she was, sometimes even in the middle of the hallway, when she was trying to process a million thoughts at once.

“I’ll get it,” she decided, standing up and making her way to the synthesiser.

“Captain—“

“It’s Philippa outside shifts, Michael,” she called over her shoulder. “Computer, chamomile tea, Georgiou recipe.”

A cup appeared before her, to which she gave an exasperated sigh.

“ _Real leaves_ , Computer.”

The synthesiser chimed again, with the correct order presented in front of her. Satisfied, Philippa cupped the sleek black mug in her hands and offered it to Michael.

“My personal favourite blend, Michael. Have a try.”

“Chamomile tea,” she nodded, giving the cup a small sniff.

“Ah, not just any old tea,” Philippa corrected with a glint in her eye. “I spent two weeks tweaking the recipe on the synthesiser. I can’t guarantee you’ll enjoy it, but at least this has worked miracles on my insomnia.” Michael’s brows raised, interest suddenly gained.

Philippa’s rich knowledge of Starfleet principles usually kept her from unnecessary speculation, especially regarding her crew, but she more or less guessed that Michael’s arrival had to do with Lieutenant Sullivan.

When Philippa didn’t know Lieutenant Sullivan well, Michael was a different story. They used to be two peas in a pod, as close as one could get with two introverts, enjoying the company of each other in absolute silence. That was until Michael began Command Training, and her former roommate switched to Engineering for good. Their rooms were rearranged, but from what Philippa gathered, the two still shared a quiet meal once in a while.

Loss hit Michael hard, and she could see that.

“I’ve been losing sleep myself,” Michael admitted, confirming Philippa’s suspects, though she didn’t need her to say so to come to that conclusion. Philippa noticed the subtle changes, it was everywhere -- her steps that lost their firm purpose, her shoulders that hunched just a fraction of a degree.

Philippa had spent too much time studying Michael to ignore this.

Gently, she ventured to place her hand on Michael’s for comfort. “I didn’t know Sullivan as well as you did,” she murmured. “Do you want to tell me about her, Michael?”

“She was the soundest companion I’d ever known.” Michael’s gaze lay fixated on her cup. “It didn’t take her long to learn that I didn’t prefer… physical comfort, so she did not force it on me. She let me sit in our quarters without expecting me to speak a word, and she let me work on my reports and my kal-toh without trying to initiate awkward conversation. But she wouldn’t leave my side, either. As a result, I was allowed to be alone without feeling lonely. I was able to fit into this collective without having to actively operate the… emotional way. I think about her wisdom every day, even when I earned my own quarters. She did not deserve to pass like this, Philippa. Not when she had so many aspirations in front of her.”

Philippa couldn’t help but notice how controlled her shoulders were as they shuddered as if she was trying to force them to stop, to choke the emotion down.

After all, Michael Burnham had developed a fear of drowning in emotions, to let the human side of her defeat her rationality. But this little thing called grief wasn’t simply handled by suppressing. Over time, it would find other ways to leak out — ways that would destruct, and Philippa knew that well. Part of her would always regret her familiar knowledge of grief from a young age, but today, she was thankful that the universe had placed Michael Burnham under her wing, in her quarters, so that she could benefit, at least a little, from what Philippa had to share.

“I had a lover, Michael, when I became a cadet at the Academy,” she admitted quietly, knowing that she was watching her. “She was a little older than me, but she promised me that we’d get married as soon as she finished this 2-year mission. Youthful fantasies, I know,” she rolled her eyes, chuckling to herself.

“She never made it past Doctari Alpha.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry or not, the point is, Michael, I’ve been through grief too.”

“You’ve seen a life of loss,” Michael quoted, tilting her head slightly to look her in the eye. “I’m certain this will pass too,” she shrugged in indifference. “Obviously, the control of my emotions —“

“Michael, stop.” Philippa’s held up a firm hand, cutting the younger woman off. “You speak of emotions as if it were some sort of disease. You want to sit it out, bury it in one corner until it fixes itself. Or at least, contain it. I don’t know if this has served you well in other aspects, but Michael, grief only grows the more you ignore it. The more you try to squirrel it away, to hide it, to lie about it, the more it gets lonely.” Her eyes were filled with a sort of flaring protection as she spoke, her brows furrowing together in concern.

Michael didn’t reply at first, instead choosing to busy herself with sipping her tea. Wrapped in the soft ambiance of the engine, the two women sat in silence, letting Philippa’s words ring in the quiet air. It was a lot to take in for Michael, she knew that, but Philippa only said it because she knew Michael was ready for it. Or so, she hoped.

“How, then?” she spoke blankly. “How do you do away with… all this pain?” She winced at the word pain as if it really stung her.

“You let it all out.” There was a certain way Philippa said it, the simplicity, the candid smile that was encouraging and unjudging. Michael’s cup of tea began rippling as tears began mingling into the tea, each drip falling faster than the last, until, finally, Michael was crying through gritted teeth.

Even now, she was trying to be strong, Philippa noted with a pang. She remembered this well, somewhere down the memory lane, she, too had her share of those lonely nights where she was left to take down grief with a knife when it aimed a phaser at her.

_Oh, Michael, I’m so sorry it hurts. I can’t bear to see you in pain._

She pried the mug from Michael’s shaking grip, setting it aside, before pulling her protege in a firm hug, letting her tears soak into her uniform, catching her cries as she simply held her, no words between them, as she began to properly grieve, for the heartbreaking first time in her life.

Not that she didn’t care for her other crewmen, but somehow, Philippa felt a sense of special protection for Michael. Michael, who had always been eager to be her best Vulcan self. Who had never accepted that emotions and logic could coexist. Who never had anyone to turn to aboard the ship — but she chose Philippa anyway.

“You know what the silver lining of grief is, Michael?” she asked, still not letting her go. When she was greeted with a quizzical look, Philippa smiled, remembering the first time — the first freeing time when she learned it for herself.

“As long as you ask, there will always be someone to shoulder your burdens for you.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y’all liked it! As always, critique and suggestions go in the comments :)


	3. I Hear Your Smile and Its Fire - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS I'm so sorry for disappearing. Unfortunately, finals are just around the corner, so you won't be seeing me often for the next 2 weeks or so. I'll miss you all loads! In the meantime, enjoy this chapter.

_A gasp, sharp and alarmed._

 

Saru's eyes flickered open, only to wake up to the darkness he never escaped. 

 

_Rustling, frantic._ It was the sound of a hospital gown rubbing against linen, of hair brushing against a polyester pillow, of struggling to move.  _Escaping._

 

Ah, so it had to be -- 

 

"Lieutenant Detmer?" he guessed, turning his head towards approximately where her bed was. 

 

"Saru," she replied, her voice hoarse and dry. "Ah, my head..."

 

"From what I heard, they implanted some sort of metal structure to your cranium. You suffered head damage from the hull when the Sarcophagus..."

 

Keyla snorted, a sound of fear in memory. "What's  _your_ damage, Kelpien?"

 

"As it would appear, my eyes," he said, motioning towards his visibly foggy pupils. 

 

When he expected sympathy, Keyla gave none. "Then how are you facing me like we're having a regular conversation?" she instead teased. In his head, Saru filled in the image of her eyes squinting in fake suspicion. 

 

Playful banter, something Saru thought he would never hear again, not the cheerful perks, not this upbeat voice, not after this tragedy, surely. Keyla, however, was here now, seated somewhere in front of him, making  _fun_ , for whatever's sake there was out there. She'd barely woken up, her head probably throbbed from the new implant, but that somehow didn't dull her shine in any way. How, Saru would never guess.

 

To respond to her question, he gave an elegant little shrug. "I'm Kelpien. My visual senses are hardly primary, I have other difference receptors that help me pinpoint the location of preda --" He stopped himself, reminding himself that Keyla wasn't quite a hazard to him. "Of my partners in speech."

 

"Oh, I knew that!" she laughed, and such a sweet sound was her laughter! "But um, on a more serious note..." More rustling, she was probably shifting on her bed, "do you think I'll be able to get back to normal after this?" 

 

"Given your current state, I doubt you'll let anything else deter you along the way. I'm certain you'll be fit for helm duty aboard... any ship." Saru corrected himself quickly. Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice. "However, I may have to... leave Starfleet for good." His tongue clicked, and he heard a sympathetic "oh" come from the bed opposite to him.

 

"I'd been the first Kelpien to make it this far," he sighed. "I've had to go through so much, not to complain or anything, I'm certain that other officers have had their own challenges too. Commander Burnham believes I'm often brought down by fear, or at least restricted by it. What she doesn't know, however, is that there are hundreds of my kind in Starfleet, though exceptionally brilliant, who have had to drop out of the Academy due to the fact that they were too petrified to function. I was very proud of myself for having earned a command role."

 

"I saw it in the way you carried yourself," Keyla agreed. "Not that you were boastful, but there was a certain air of pride about it. You were humble, Saru, but you also knew to give yourself due credit. Granted, you were still eager to push yourself limit past limit, until you've broken through another comfort zone. That was something I'd always admired about you."

 

The sound of sifting hair told Saru that she had tilted her head, and his imagination and experience compensated for her face, which he guessed was endearing, sweet, kind. Somehow, Saru was able to smile at that.

 

Even through grief, through loss, through pain...

 

"Did they... did they ever get to Captain Georgiou?"

 

For a while, Saru hesitated, not knowing whether to tell her or not. Selfishly, he wanted to keep her in her happy state, knowing that joy like that would only be increasingly rare as the  _Shenzhou_ crew moved on to accept this tragedy. HE wanted to keep this little sliver of light, to shield the flame from the tempest of reality, keep it all to himself for as long as he could savour.

 

But Keyla was a part of the crew, too. She even was part of the away team with the Captain. If anything, she was the one who deserved to know, to mourn. It was only fair to her, and to Captain Georgiou.

 

"I--"

 

"I know," she said. Saru's brief moment of silence had given away everything to the intuitive helm officer. 

 

She was a smart one, that Keyla. 

 

"They never located her life signs," he provided quietly. At that, he could have sworn that he sensed her... perk up? "Lieutenant?"

 

"Perhaps it is inappropriate of me to hope, Mr. Saru, but as long as they never recovered her body, I'm certain that the captain is out there somewhere. Some part of me, some small inkling, is determined to not lose that hope until we locate the captain, dead or alive. It's our duty to remain hopeful, don't you think? It's what the captain would have wanted. It's what she taught us." 

 

"Either way," Saru pushed himself onto his feet and began to pace the small space between their beds. "I still live in regret that it wasn't me in the captain's place! At least she would find ways to remain useful, even with her eyes gouged out. She is... adaptable, versatile. But for me? I could never be on the bridge again, not with my eyesight. My life's work is practically scrapped! What can I possibly do with a degree of exobiology but not the place to use them? As Science Officer, my eyesight is vital for my work, and now --"

 

He puffed out a frustrated sigh. "I may never get to work with any of you again. Perhaps the next best thing I could achieve would be a wheat farmer in Michigan --"

 

"Saru, you're rambling," Keyla warned, placing a hand on his long arm. "Hey, listen. You have an official Starfleet background, so it shouldn't be hard to get you another role... one that suits your disability --"

 

"How could there possibly --"

 

"Let's look at your strengths first. You're sensitive, receptive. You understand people quickly, and you accurately predict their motives before they have one. You see through people and you know how to react accordingly. For an example, you sensed that I was in a good mood right off the bat."

 

Saru scoffed. "Lieutenant, that was really obvious."

 

"Not to humans, it wasn't. My face was dark and my posture was slumped. But perhaps, with your missing eyesight, you're aren't lazy to take what meets the eye. You don't look at the appearance, you look at the heart."

 

It was sound logic, Saru had to admit. He bought it, at least. "What are you suggesting, Lieutenant?"

 

"How does Counsellor Saru sound to you?"

 

"Counsellor? Keyla, are you out of your mind?" The Kelpien reeled. Immediately, he began reciting all the reasons why he wouldn't be fit for the role. "My inability to sympathise, my fear of not being able to control my clients, why, it's impossible!"

 

"I'm not asking you to take on the role immediately. Obviously, you don't have the entire skill set. But I want you to give this a fair chance. What you can do, is learn. Ask Captain Burnham, or whoever our new captain is, for a discretionary place aboard the Shenzhou --"

 

"-- destroyed --"

 

"Well, our new ship, then," she sighed. "Take your courses there, and in the meantime, you can act as an advisor or observing officer or whatever. Once Starfleet issues your license, you can serve. I'll bet it's hard, Saru, the hardest shift you could ever make, but are you Starfleet or not?"

 

Saru's jaw could have dropped right there. Keyla had a way of convincing people, moving them even when they had decided to mope where they were. She didn't leave any room for sad thoughts; she chased the, away with determination.

 

"I'll consider it," he decided finally. "You're right, Lieutenant. I am Starfleet."

 

"Say, Lieutenant," he added as an afterthought. "I never got to know you well when we served together on the bridge. When did you learn to develop this... optimistic mindset?"

 

"Captain Georgiou," she replied, taking him by surprise. "What, did you think you had to wait your turn to learn everything from her? Well, you probably did, you were next in line to First Officer anyways," she continued at his stunned silence. "But when you're a small helm officer with no chance of becoming her Number One anytime soon, you salvage what you can from one of the best captains of the fleet. Am I making sense?" 

 

"I see the wisdom in your approach," he murmured agreement. "I should have done the same. Now, I've barely learnt anything from her." 

 

"Have hope that you'll see her again," she urged.

 

_Very well_ , Saru thought to himself. Though a little unpractical, he found that hope itself was quite a soothing little thing.

 

_Footsteps_ , which Saru could easily identify anytime. The rhythm of her boots was still intact as ever, growing louder as they approached. 

 

"Commander Burnham," he and Keyla said in unison.

 

"Oh, I --"

 

"Commander, I believe that Mr Saru has something to discuss with you," Keyla said quickly.

 

The commander sat down on his bed, making the mattress dip. 

 

"Fire away." 


	4. I Hear Your Smile and Its Fire - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I felt guilty about posting a filler chapter with no Milippa, so here's a bonus flashback to make up for it :D As always, critique and comments go below, don't be shy!

"Tactical officer application? Michael, what's this?" Philippa exclaimed incredulously, examining the data file Michael had handed her. As Michael had requested, the two of them were now in a meeting in Philippa's ready room, just as Philippa's shift had ended.

 

"Michael, I asked you a question. Why are you applying for --"

 

"I want a promotion," she said unsteadily, leaning against Philippa's desk.

 

"What? Michael, you're my Number One."

 

"I swear I'm not drunk," she slurred, before collapsing unceremoniously on the floor. 

 

_Oh, dear, this was going to be a long night._ "I'm sure you aren't," she said with a brow raised, scrolling through the application. Sure enough, she was greeted with the line  _"I drserve to be Tactical because im god hahahahahah"_. Philippa coughed, trying to stifle her laughter. "What did they get you to drink this time?"

 

"Andorian brandy," she muttered against the sleek floor.

 

The strongest in  _Shenzhou's_ Ten Forward. That  _damn_ crew -- 

 

Philippa shoved the application in her drawer, kicking it close with a foot. She went and examined the collapsed woman, who had begun to mutter some sort of exorcism chants in Latin. "Come, Michael, let's get you cleaned up," she groaned, scooping her up and hauling her to the turbolifts. Either they were too focused or dared not ask, but no one on the night shift addressed why the captain was hauling a miserably drunk first officer out of her ready room. For the lack of attention on that detail, Philippa was grateful. 

 

As soon as they reached Michael's private quarters, Philippa chucked her in the shower, hoping that she was sane enough to clean herself without getting into some sort of trouble. Besides, even if she did, Philippa wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. Was it protocol for the captain to babysit a drunk first officer? Philippa had no idea, but she convinced herself to take it as a yes anyway. Just in case.

 

In the silence of the room, accompanied by the faint sounds of the sonic showers, Philippa took a look at her Number One's quarters. It was simple and practical, the wallpaper remaining the same matte silver it was built in. On a small shelf sat -- she raised her brows at that -- a  _real book_ , a kal-toh game, stacks of colour-coded PADDs. Next to her bed was a working station. Philippa was a little taken aback that Michael worked even in her own quarters past her shift, however, concluded that it could very much be for the sake of Michael's own research. 

 

On the side lay the closet. Just what Philippa had been looking for. 

 

Peering inside, she, once again, found it more practical than the average crewman's -- nothing without the Federation insignia. Several sets of workout clothes, spare uniforms, standard issue underwear and sleepwear, and a set of formal dress for diplomatic occasions. It seemed that she had gotten rid of, or at least shelved the Vulcan outfit she came aboard with, careful not to mingle work with sentiment.

 

All of a sudden, Philippa couldn't help but feel a little insecure regarding her own wardrobe in her quarters. Though it wasn't overloaded with fancy outfits, she did bring onboard some riding gear and dancewear for trips to the holodeck, and even her favourite sets of fluffy pyjamas (she had insisted that the standard issue ones weren't comfortable enough). As a captain who made the ship her home, she really personalised not only her closet but her room as well. Somehow, it made days easier to pass until she would get home to meet with her family. Even now, she hadn't dropped the habit just yet. 

 

There was something to be said about living space reflecting the personality of a person, and now, Philippa especially rendered it true. 

 

It was really interesting to observe one's closet. Given the opportunity, Philippa would really like to take a peek at her other crewmen's as well. 

 

"Philippa?" Michael must have finished the shower. "Are you here?" "Coming!" she called, picking up a set of clothes for her.

 

When Philippa came out of the closet, she was greeted with the sight of Michael Burnham, wrapped in a towel and seated at her desk chair, her hair dishevelled and flying in wisps. "Put these on," she said, handing her the pyjamas before turning the other way. Patiently, she waited as a rather sluggish Michael shed her towel and tugged clean clothes on her body...

 

"The light couldn't be dimmer in here, captain, and I can still see the blush on your face," Michael said suddenly. "I'm done, you may turn around."

 

If Philippa hadn't been aware of herself blushing, she certainly was now painfully conscious of the flush creeping over her entire body. "What, did you think it was easy to haul you all the way down to your quarters? You tried to give me a mind meld twice." Not exactly a lie, but Philippa knew that she wasn't exactly rosy-cheeked because she had to wrestle her drunk First Officer on the way down either. 

 

"If I had the brain to do the math, I would be able to debunk your statement, judging by the fact that you've had at least 20 minutes to catch your breath..." 

 

"But you  _don't_ have the brain, because you're terribly drunk," Philippa countered quickly before Michael could go on another embarrassing tangent. She couldn't help but feel like a shepherd as she ushered Michael to bed. "Sleep. Our shift starts at 0600 hours; I want you relatively less drunk by then." In response, Michael collapsed directly on top of her bed.

 

"Do your covers," Philippa added, like she was lecturing a 5-year-old. 

 

"Don't need 'em."

 

"Yes, you do." She yanked the material back, letting Michael crawl under them, and tucked it over her. "I'll be going now," she informed her, heading to the door.

 

"Good night, Pippa," Michael mumbled sleepily. 

 

_Pippa._ Philippa's face pricked with heat. From the corner of her eye, she saw Michael smirk at her reaction.

 

_Damn it._

 

She could only hope that Michael wouldn't remember this tomorrow, for the sake of the both of them.

 

"Night, Michael," she replied, exiting the room.

 

It took all of her resolve for Philippa to make it back to her own quarters before exploding in a squeal of amusement and embarrassment. Finally, when she'd gathered herself together, she sat up, sighing thoughtfully.

 

_"Captain's Log, supplemental. As it appears, the request for a change of positions from Commander Burnham was simply a result of intoxication from Andorian brandy."_


	5. Welcome to the Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I’ve kept Milippa brief, but I assure you I have plans for the next chapter ;)
> 
> I’m sorry y’all’ve had to wait so long for this! I just crawled out of my first wave of finals, so yeah... enjoy this for now! I hope it’s still up to standard :)

“Captain Michael Burnham. Welcome to the Discovery.”

Admiral Katrina Cornwell gave her a smile as she introduced her to her new ship, fresh and ready for her maiden voyage. “Please, follow me.”

The deck they were travelling on was already populated with crew members sprinting back and forth, getting their final check in place before the first ever assignment which was ever so close now. Most of them would pause and nod at the Admiral and the Captain, but some were so busy to the fact that they would zoom past without a single word.

Michael took this chance to take in the faces of her new crewmen. What had been weeks of studying every file bearing every member’s information, down to every last cadet, was starting to form into real people with stories, with their lives on Earth or whichever planet they came from, people who had, to some extent, gone through the same grueling training of Starfleet to land a spot on the Discovery.

_Her ship_.

_Lieutenant Paul Stamets_ , she identified as a blond man rushed past her, too busy to even say hello.

Her heart skipped a beat when another passing ensign nodded with respect at the two of them. _Emily Sullivan_ , she noted. She would be a joy to be around, if she was anything like her sister.

Ah! A familiar face aboard. Troy Januzzi from the Shenzhou was back and active, the metal piece on his head ever flashing as he worked, scurrying back and forth. He gave the Admiral a curt nod and offered the same to Michael, only that he topped it off with a charming smile.

Philippa had always offered smiles when greeting her crew members. It was no surprise that some of them would have picked up this habit.

“Burnham?” Admiral Cornwell’s voice gently drew her back to reality, and Michael realised they were stopped in front of a sleek silver door, tucked neatly along a corridor several rooms. “This is the meeting room, where you’ll most likely meet with your senior officers, unless you prefer your ready room. I’d personally recommend this, though, it’s much more spacious.”

“The meeting room is not on the bridge?” Michael asked in surprise. Back on the Shenzhou, it was always somewhere to the left of the turbolifts.

Admiral Cornwell gave her a knowing smile. “It’s hard to adjust, isn’t it? Starfleet modified the design of the ships a few years ago, and since the Shenzhou was constructed so far back, I don’t think you’ve had the chance to get used to this new design. Anyhow, I have utmost faith that you’ll adapt soon enough, yes?”  
“Yes, Admiral,” she nodded. “If I may inquire, why this change? The meeting room on the bridge seemed practical enough.”

“For one, it’s more efficient for the officers to get to. You’ll be surprised at the amount of emergency night-time meetings we have around here. Especially on this brand-new science vessel, where things tend to malfunction.”

“Understood,” Michael answered, feeling like she was out of a sort of Starfleet loop that she’d never officially been a part of.

Travelling in deep space on an older ship meant less updates on the newest technology, and more emergency runs to patch other parts. If given the chance, Michael wouldn’t have traded it for the world.

Wake up, Michael, she warned herself. As a captain now, she has no business reminiscing about her past assignments. This was a new chapter.

“Now, allow me to introduce to you…” Admiral Cornwell opened the doors to reveal a politely sitting crew of senior officers. “This wonderful team of ladies and gentlemen hand-picked by the Fleet Admiral himself for this ship.”

Michael had already known who they all already were, of course, but nothing could have stopped her eyes from lighting up at the presence of some very old friends.

“Commander Airiam, your First Officer and spore drive operator. You’ve worked with her before?”

Michael smiled in greeting. “She’s spent a few years under me aboard the Shenzhou, and she is a very competent officer. I am delighted to have you by me again.” She addressed the last line to the officer, who smiled politely.

“Lieutenant Paul Stamets, the mastermind behind this spore drive, which is our main mode of travel. And next to him is Chief Medical Officer Hugh Culber.”

“Pleased to meet you both,” Michael said. They both nodded back, to Michael’s amusement, in sync.

“Your Chief Security Officer, Commander Ellen Landry.” Admiral Cornwell motioned to the lady seated with her hands folded neatly on top of the desk. She gave a solemn nod, her lips tight and grim.

_A serious woman of high regard_ , Michael noted. She saw some of herself in this officer, always alert and continuously in the mindset of duty. If she was anything like Michael in terms of responsibility and focus, then she knew that the Discovery’s safety would be in very good hands.

“And your Ops Officer, Joann Owoseskun.”

“Comman -- Captain!” She stood up right away, only sitting down after receiving a glance from the Admiral. “It’s very good to see you,” she said finally. Michael chuckled at her enthusiasm, she was the same as always.

“Please, Michael, have a seat.” Admiral Cornwell guestered for Michael to sit down next to Airiam. “This will be a quick debriefing for all,” she addressed the rest of the senior officers with a smile. “As you know, the Discovery is a new ship, constructed alongside her sister ship the USS Glenn. Captain Burnham, you’ll be closely working alongside Captain Gabriel Lorca to monitor this project of the spore drive. Aside from that, the Discovery also hosts multiple other science projects. You’ll be in charge of deciding which ones to prioritise if travelling is required.

“If you have noticed, some of the officers from the Shenzhou are here. The others are under Gabri --” She stopped herself, masking her mistake in a cough, “-- Captain Lorca’s care. It’s no accident that everyone from the Shenzhou was assigned to these two ships. We need your expertise and focus. More importantly, we needed your hope.

“Your captain, Philippa Georgiou, was a woman who always brought in hope during times of despair. I’m certain you know this better than I do.” Admiral Cornwell gave Michael a knowing glance. “In this time, this is the attitude we need when developing technology that would take many failures before it can successfully contribute to the war effort. You all are here because we need you to encourage mistakes, encourage failure, having faith that one day it will truly pay off. There are many successful captains out there that could take on the role of piloting a brand new ship. But as far as we’re concerned, only those who knew Philippa best would know to encourage our officers to try again when the rest of the Fleet urges you to give up. Only she would love her officers enough that she would go into grey areas, find loopholes, maybe even break one or two protocols just to get to the end result. Not that we’re encouraging you to break our rules,” she added warningly, her voice serious. “But we need that energy for our scientists. You’re our hope, Shenzhou.”

Everyone nodded silently, and the officers from the Shenzhou bowed their heads. The mention of a beloved captain hit close to home, when hope was so minimal that she was still alive.

“In her honour we serve,” Michael announced, her voice quiet. Admiral Cornwell gave a smile of gratitude. “Yes. This is how we win the war. By remembering those who gave themselves for it.” She stood up from her seat, as if she was giving a toast.

“There being no other business, Discovery, you’re all set for your maiden voyage.”

 

***

 

“Oh! Michael.” Philippa wasn’t surprised, but still pleased at the sight of Michael’s silhouette on her window-side seat, framed by the soft light of the stars they passed by.

The younger woman jumped right away, her eyes large and a little worried. “How was it?”

She gave a wry chuckle as she sat down next to her Number One. “Oh, the usual. _Philippa, you broke protocol! Philippa, you were entrusted with this ship!_ ” She did a small impersonation of the Vulcan Admiral, amusing no one.

“And…?” Michael’s voice grew meek.

“What could I say? Of course I fought. You were this close to reprogramming the warp drive so that we could travel 33% faster. This would have been a significant achievement, of course I had to let you try it.

“The Admiral didn’t understand, of course. It wasn’t the first time someone had tempered with the Shenzhou’s components, and so far the results weren’t glamourous. I knew they would put some sort of protocol in place. But I had to let you try. You’re the best quantum physicist I know! Yes, in the end it was only improved by 13%, but this was still significant! They just couldn’t see that,” she shook her head and sighed.

Michael toyed with her hands. “I got you in trouble,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

“Michael.” Philippa’s smile was endearing. “There are some things that you have to fight for, and some things that you have to sacrifice a little credit for. You worked hard for this. I wasn’t about to let it go down the drain purely because the Federation had a grudge against other mad scientists under my care. I trusted you more than any of them. I had to at least let you try it out.”

“But —“

“Michael, _some things are worth fighting for_. Remember that.”

To her surprise, Philippa gave her a big hug. Too grateful to reply, Michael hugged her back, leaning her chin on her shoulder. Philippa’s hugs were always the best.

“I’ll be fine, Michael,” she assured, rubbing her back. “These minute mistakes are too common amongst these ships to get me fired. Will you?”

Michael nodded automatically. “Thank you for fighting for me. And trusting in me.”

“These are the two things I’ll never stop doing, dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! As always, drop a kudos and constructive critique as you leave!


	6. Shards of the Heart - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Things are a bit different this time ‘round, the chapter was getting lengthy so I decided to separate it... like Mockingjay, y’know? 
> 
> Anyways, here we are! Enjoy!

_ The time is 0400. The time is 0400. _

 

“God, Philippa, I’m sorry I fell asleep in your --” 

 

Michael flung herself off the bed, only to land on the slick marble finish of the floor. Confused, she propped herself up. The Captain’s quarters usually had carpeting…

 

_ Oh. _

 

This wasn’t the Shenzhou. 

 

Sighing, Michael got to her feet, fixing her bed as she did. Reality check: Philippa has been missing for well over half a year now, the Shenzhou blasted to smithereens in the same period of time.  _ She  _ was the captain of the Discovery now; it was  _ her  _ duty to wake up 2 hours earlier than the rest of the day crew. Not Philippa’s.

 

Her crew had been able to get over this with relative ease. But Michael’s schedule still revolved around a Philippa, and everything she did was still looked over by Philippa, even when she was gone. It was never grief, Michael couldn’t bring herself to mourn without seeing living proof that she was dead. But she still longed; a small part of her which never refused to accept, and therefore adapt to a lifestyle where Philippa wasn’t there.

 

Sentimentality and attachment was something that was discouraged for Vulcans, and Michael knew that better than anyone. She had spent many nights trying to push her out of her sight, of her mind, only to wake up calling for her after another sweat-drenched nightmare. Nothing worked. Meditation, holodeck simulations, not even her favourite reading. Michael was one step away from stumbling to the onboard psychiatrist for help.

 

_ Philippa.  _ Where was she now, the sweet captain she knew?

 

Without even the energy to try and push her face out of her mind, Michael took a shower and dressed herself for the duties the day brought.  _ 0500 hours,  _ prompted the computer.

 

Michael looked at herself in the mirror projection, straightening her insignia badge. 

 

“When I count to ten, I become a model captain,” she said to herself. 

 

10, 9, 8…

 

Philippa was still there.

 

...3, 2, 1.

 

Oh, well. Whatever cannot be taken away can be hidden. And whatever cannot be forgotten can be replaced with other things on top. 

 

Not a moment longer, her communicator began chiming.  “Bridge to Captain.”

 

“Go ahead, Lieutenant,” she said to the night-shift officer. 

 

“We’re receiving a distress signal from a ship approximately 3 light-years away.”

 

“On my way. Get the rest of my crew.”

 

“Noted, Captain.”

 

By the time Michael reached the bridge from her quarters, everyone was already working hard at their stations, looking neat and freshly caffeinated. Someone must have passed around coffee from the Mess Hall. 

 

“Airiam, what’s the status?” she asked, coming up to her robotic Number One. 

 

“The ship is Federation from what we’re gleaning --”

 

“Gleaning?” Michael asked. 

 

“Yes, Captain, the signal was unclear and disrupted to begin with.”  _ Fair enough _ , Michael thought. “Are they suspended currently?”

“Yes, captain, they don’t appear to be moving from their current coordinates.”

 

“Are there other ships in the vicinity? Tactical?” Lieutenant Rhys shook his head. “The Discovery is the only ship that can reach the area in time to meet the needs of the ship. The ship suffered heavy damage.”

 

“I have the signature, Captain! It’s the  _ USS Glenn _ !” announced Owoseskun, projecting it on the screen. Everyone’s jaw dropped a little. The Glenn was the Discovery’s sister ship after all, and they all had closer relations with that crew than any of Starfleet. 

 

Michael’s jaw hardened; she had close friends aboard that ship too. “Then we don’t have time to waste. Is the spore drive ready?”

 

Airiam spoke in a communicator, and looked up quickly with a brisk nod.  

 

“Black alert!” she announced, sitting on the Captain’s chair, keeping her feet apart and grounded. She held onto the grips tightly as the ship shook with the effort of zipping through space at unfathomable speeds. 

 

The sight that greeted them had everyone gasping, some holding onto their stations in shock. The Glenn was absolutely mutilated, with pieces of the hull flying around. The main body was semi-intact, but looking positively lifeless. 

 

“What happened?” demanded Michael, standing up to regard the damage. 

 

“Klingons?” guessed an ensign.

 

“We can only go down to assess the damage,” Michael declared. “I’m taking Landry, Stamets.” She looked over at everyone, who nodded, until Lieutenant Stamets’ voice came from Michael’s communicator. “Permission to bring Cadet Sylvia Tilly with me, Captain? She has been working closely with me on the spore drive, and I need her to see what we can salvage from the Glenn.”

 

“Permission granted,” Michael said. “Airiam, the bridge is yours.”

 

***

 

As soon as the away team of 4 beamed on the wrecks of the Glenn, they knew that it wasn’t good. 

 

Strewn all over the deck they were on were bodies of officers everywhere -- no one was excluded from the massacre. It seemed as though they had waded into a river of Starfleet corpses. 

 

“What the hell happened here?” muttered Landry, kneeling down to turn one of the people over. It appeared that his chest had been gouged out, and a gleam against the flesh showed that the cut was so deep that his ribs were exposed. 

 

“Oh, God,” the cadet called Sylvia Tilly cringed, looking away. 

 

Michael walked up to a wall, still glistening with fresh blood. “It’s an ambush,” she announced.

 

“And the attacker is still on board.” 

 

“Then we have to get to engineering right away, Captain!” interjected Stamets. “Or else we risk exposing the technology to the Klingons.”

 

“Agreed. There’ll be time to grieve later, Captain. I understand that you have relations aboard, but the mission must come first.” Commander Landry placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder, who nodded in gratitude. “Thank you. I believe the Glenn and the Discovery should have a similar layout, so, Lieutenant,” she addressed Stamets, “lead us to Engineering.” 

 

“Follow me,” he said, going down a winding corridor.

 

“C-captain, I think something is following us!” cried Tilly, who ran in front of Commander Landry and behind the other two. Landry whipped around right away, only to see a staggering bulk stumbling towards them. Expertly, Landry shot him down, kicking him in the face for good measure. “Klingon… It must have been an invasion.”

 

“No, it couldn’t have been,” Tilly said suddenly, sounding out of rank. “The Glenn has a spore drive, right? They would have been able to jump.”

 

“What if they snuck aboard the ship with their cloaking technology?” countered Lieutenant Stamets.

 

“Then there’s no point in destroying the hull if the attack was from inside! Unless they attacked two-front, which is impractical of Klingons, and is definitely uncharacteristic of their war strategy.”

 

There was a silence for a little while, and then, “Stamets?”

 

“Yes, Commander Landry?”

 

“Get this kid over to Tactical. She’s observant.”

 

“Which is why we need her to take care of the spore drive,” said Stamets pointedly, pulling Tilly over to him by the shoulders. “Come on, let’s go—“

 

“Look out!” called Michael at a creature charging towards them at full speed. Everyone rolled out of the way, gasping as they stood up again. 

 

“What’s tha —“

 

“Whatever it is, we don’t have the time to decide. Run,” said Landry, helping Tilly up.

 

In response, Stamets made a beeline for Engineering, leaping over bodies strewn all over the floor. The others followed suit, with Michael and Landry flanking the group, on the lookout for the lumbering creature.

 

“We’re here,” cried Stamets, prying open the door to Engineering. “For Pete’s sake this better last,” he muttered, placing a multi-factor authentication barrier in front of the door.

 

“Klingon ahead!” warned Landry, directing her phaser at a severely injured Klingon, who was struggling to climb towards a station. “He can’t get that information!” In a state of panic, Stamets seized the phaser from Landry and shot the wounded soldier without a second thought.

 

“No! It’s set to kill --”

 

Too late. 

 

With a single jolt, the Klingon breathed his last, sliding against the station. 

 

He let out a gasp as he realized the mistake, slowly handing the phaser back. “Captain, I’m sorry,” he muttered, hanging his head. 

 

Michael sighed. “This was out of line, Lieutenant, I expected better from you. It’s too late to do anything now, you probably put him out of his suffering.”

 

“May you rest well in Sto’vo’kor,” said Tilly quietly. It yielded turned heads, but no one addressed her further for this. 

 

Stamets ran up to a functioning station, typing on it furiously. “I need a few minutes!” he announced. “Tilly, come here, help me with this.” The cadet ran over, working on the station with the same intensity as her mentor. “Come on, come on…” she muttered as the display flickered. “I’m losing the display! We may not finish this in time…”

 

“Move aside,” Michael growled. With acute accuracy, she aimed a sharp kick to the bottom of the display. The light died for a second, before rebooting in its full glory. Tilly’s mouth hung open, her eyes lighting with joy for a quick second before burying herself to work on the station once more. 

 

Commander Landry raised her eyebrows. “This works?” Michael had to smile at the fact that all of her officers looked so shock. More importantly, that the maneuver  _ worked _ . She shrugged. “Just another trick off of the Shenzhou. You know what they say about these Walker class ships; they never work properly.” Landry snorted; evidently she also had her fair share of Walker class experience. 

 

The door pounded loudly, breaking the conversation between those two. “Damn it, Captain, we need more time!” Stamets called as he worked. “Tilly and I are doing our best!” 

 

“We’ll cover you,” Michael promised. “Set phasers to stun, Landry!”

 

“Captain, if it worked on that  _ thing _ , then the Glenn wouldn’t have been torn apart like so. Permission to set phasers to kill,” Landry said, keeping her eyes keenly on Michael, who nodded. “Permission granted, Commander, but only fire when the stun setting does not work.”

 

_ Thump-thump,  _ went the door, making the two science officers jump. “Keep going!” Michael said encouragingly. “We’ll buy you time.”

 

The sound paused all of a sudden, and the two of them lowered their weapons, glancing at each other.

 

Then, the door burst into shreds, and the creature flew in. Sharply, Michael fired a shot towards the animal, intended to stun. He charged on as if nothing had happened. Gritting her teeth, she changed the settings on her phaser, giving Landry a nod.

 

She fired a killing shot at it. To both of their surprise, it barely scratched his skin. It only aggravated it more, and it paused in the middle of its run to let out an enraged roar.

 

“We’re done here!” cried Tilly, extracting a data chip from the station. 

 

“Hold on to this carefully, Tilly,” Stamets instructed, moving towards the two women. Tilly joined them.

 

They all shared a quick, knowing glance as the animal ran towards them at full speed. 

 

At the last possible moment, the group separated to both sides of the wall, and the creature ran on forward, too late to skid to a halt. Without even waiting for the noise it made as it crashed into a wall, the four fled Engineering.

 

“Burnham to the Discovery.”

 

A radio silence greeted her. 

 

“Discovery, respond.”

 

Still silence filled the communicator.

 

She turned to her away team. “We’ll have to find a better spot.”

 

“Try that way,” Landry suggested, pointing down another corridor, lit only by the emergency lights. “I don’t think that… creature has gone down there yet.”

 

It was good enough for Michael, who began running down the hall. The others followed suit for a while.

 

“Wait!” Tilly called in a whisper shout. “I see something up front!”

 

Immediately, Michael armed herself, setting the phaser to stun. Tilly was smart; as she’d said, a long shadow had crept down the hallway. 

 

“Who goes there?” demanded Commander Landry at the figure. Immediately, it began making its way towards them.

 

“It looks injured,” muttered Michael, aiming her phaser at it as it crept closer. “Could it be related to the creature?”

 

“No, it couldn’t!” Tilly said suddenly, stepping forward. “I recognise this shape, it’s a Kelpien!”

 

Michael stopped, setting her phaser down. 

 

“Saru?” she called, her heart pounding. “Is that you?”

 

“Michael?” It  _ was _ Saru! Immediately, Michael ran towards her old friend, clothed in a medical uniform now more or less shredded. “Saru, it’s Michael. I’m here with an away team from the Discovery.”

 

“Oh, thank the heavens,” he said, stuttering in fear as he did. 

 

“Saru, what happened?”

“Let him explain when we get back,” said Landry, who had her communicator open. “We’re clear to beam up.”

 

“Saru, we’re going back to the Discovery. We’ll figure things out from there, okay?” He nodded. “T-thank you, Michael.” Michael grasped his hand, and he held it as tight as he could, still very much shaky. 

 

“Let’s get out of here,” Landry announced, partially into the communicator. In a flash of gold, the five people fled the Glenn for good. 

 

***

 

Back on the Discovery, they were greeted with more familiar faces than they expected.

 

“Saru!” 

 

Keyla Detmer flew over to the Kelpien, hugging him tightly. “Oh, thank God.” 

 

Michael stared, her eyes wide. She knew that Keyla was a part of the Glenn, and somewhere in the back of her head she had assumed the Helm Officer dead. The sight of Keyla right in front of her eyes, embracing the Kelpien, was a miracle, at best. 

 

In her hazy bewilderment, she was grateful that Keyla was here; she watched as Saru’s ganglia slowly retracted in her presence. Whatever strengthened their bonds on the Glenn, she made a mental note to find out later. 

 

“Keyla --” she began, walking towards the auburn-haired woman.

 

“What, Captain Burnham, no love for me?” 

 

Michael slowly turned around. 

 

“I never expected to hear  _ your _ voice again, Captain Lorca.”

 

“You must have a lot of questions,” he said, his face bearing a sad grimace. “Come, let me fill you in.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bahahah there’s so little Milippa in this that I should set it back to gen 
> 
> I swear I’ll bring it in, hang in there! Y’all are being amazing readers, let me tell you. 
> 
> As always, drop a comment and kudos if you like!


	7. Shards of the Heart -- Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> H...eeeey. 
> 
> Sorry for disappearing like that. I didn't want to be that kind of writer who only updated every 2 months, y'know, but there was a lot of personal stuff happening irl, plus I kind of got too much into the Big Bang Theory fandom and couldn't find any inspiration for this story. 
> 
> Anyways, I'm trying to get back on track. Updates may still be a bit shaky, but I'm so excited to post the next chappie, so you'll expect it way sooner than 2 months, I promise <3

“So,” Captain Lorca paced the front of the meeting room as if he were a professor ready to give a lecture at the Academy. “Tell me what you want to know.”

 

“Let’s start with something easy,” Michael suggested, folding her hands over each other.  “How did you and Keyla get out of that ship?”

 

“I’m sensing a little distrust here, so let me get this straight. Detmer and I weren’t even on the ship when the attack happened. She was piloting me on an away mission. We had gotten information that there was a spore farm on an uninhabited moon, and we went to collect samples.”

 

“We turned around as soon as we received the distress signal,” explained Detmer. “But it was too late. By the time we came back, the Glenn was a match. It was only by luck that the Discovery saw us and hailed. Commander Airiam beamed us on board.” She nodded to the sleek silver and black figure seated across her.

 

Satisfied, Michael leaned back onto her seat. “I’m glad my First Officer found you.” 

 

“As am I,” Captain Lorca replied smoothly. “Anything else?”

 

“Commander Landry made her way back to the wreckage and collected that… creature which rampaged your ship,” Michael began, motioning to Landry in gratitude. “What the  _ hell  _ is that? Do you have any idea where it could have come from?”

 

“Only that we kept it on our ship,” said Lorca, yielding a few gasps from the meeting room. Michael’s eyes snapped up in alertness. “What?”

 

“We recently discovered it along the borders of Andorian space,” he said forcedly, leaning against the wall with his hands crossed. “We collected it because as soon as we’d noticed that Ripper had been interacting with the residue from our spore drive.”

“Ripper?” Landry pulled a face, unable to comprehend that the creature she’d moved mountains to bring onboard would be christened such an endearing name.

 

Stamets cleared his throat, gathering everyone’s attention. “What did the findings conclude, may I ask?” he said politely. “From the tardigrade.” 

 

“It should be in the data files you retrieved from the Glenn,” Captain Lorca said gruffly. “Your partner, lieutenant, was careful to log everything.”

 

“I haven’t had the time to access the files --”

 

“We found out that Ripper, when connected to the spore drive, can bring us to our designated coordinates with astounding accuracy,” Keyla interjected quickly before a fight broke out. 

 

Landry reeled back, her eyes narrowed. “Why was this not shared with the Discovery immediately? This information would have been  _ critical _ to grant the Federation a tactical advantage against the Klingons! It should have been reported to Admiral Cornwell immediately!”

 

“Your dedication to this project,  _ commander _ , is astounding,” Lorca replied, placing emphasis on the word  _ commander.  _ “But we decided to observe further before we informed you. And it was a good thing we did, too.” The captain’s gaze travelled around the room, a warning to all who dared to oppose his decision. “If the tardigrade had been aboard the Discovery, the tragedy could have been yours.” 

 

“Well, the tardigrade is onboard now, so we better know what happened aboard the Glenn.” Michael’s voice was clipped with mild impatience, as well as the way Lorca tried to dominate  _ her  _ crew. A rush of the protectiveness as a captain filled her, and she sat up a little straighter, wishing that she could appear taller. 

 

Lorca shrugged. “You forget that we weren’t on the Glenn.”

 

Everyone’s eyes seemed to travel to the Kelpien, who had begun to shrink in his seat. Michael blinked sympathetically. “Saru?”

 

As expected, his ganglia began crawling along the back of his hand, and he trembled with remembered fear. “I… Captain… I…”

 

“Tell them, soldier,” Lorca said, his gaze intent. “Bravely.”

 

“No,” Michael interjected, reaching out a hand in an attempt to stop him. “Let him rest and recover first. We can learn more later.” “With all due respect, Burnham, I am his captain.”

 

Keyla reached over and tapped Saru’s hand wordlessly, before interlacing his long fingers with hers, squeezing it in comfort. She wrapped an arm around his back and whispered in his ear. Though Michael never caught what was said, she could tell that it worked when he sat up a little straighter in determination. Keyla let go of him and exchanged a glance with Michael, who nodded in grateful encouragement.

 

“Well,” Saru began, stroking his ganglia automatically. “There was a short power outage on the Glenn because of radiation interference. It couldn’t have been more than 8 seconds of delay.” 

 

“The tardigrade… he penetrated the weakened shield, and then, he…” he swallowed, trying his hardest to remain calm.

 

“He attacked Engineering first. Security threw everything at him. All known phaser blasts, guns, everything. It barely scratched him. I… I was scared. I ran. I relied on my senses to hide from him. I suppose a blind old Kelpien couldn’t have fought much, anyway.” 

 

Saru hung his head, ashamed for being a coward who sought survival instead of going down with his crewmates. Michael’s heart ached for her old friend, whose playful haughtiness had dissolved following the events on the Shenzhou. “Your Kelpien instincts saved you, Saru, so you could report back to us. It’s a valuable asset that you should be proud of,” she encouraged.

 

Even Lorca had to agree. “When the universe spares you, soldier, it’s for a reason. I’m sure you will find a solid purpose in this war effort, so don’t feel ashamed of surviving. Sometimes, it’s all you need to make it count.”

 

“Thank you,” Saru bowed his head. “Truly.”

 

“We saw Klingons on the wreckage of the Glenn,” said Landry, spitting in hatred. 

 

Saru looked up. “If I am to speculate, they came to raid the wreckage.” Michael sat up in surprise at the word  _ speculate.  _ Keyla caught her action and hid a smile. “See what technology they could uncover. But I assume the tardigrade got to them, too. Even their ba’leths made no dent on its exoskeleton.”

 

Lorca fixed his gaze on the Discovery away team. “Did any of them make it out alive?”

 

“Not before we retrieved the data files of the spore drive,” Stamets confirmed. “Our secrets are safe.”

 

“As they should be,” Lorca sighed, his brows raising and falling in relief.

 

“That’s about it, then,” Michael said, sitting back in her seat. “We’ll be keeping the tardigrade aboard for observation. Until then, we won’t be using it for the spore drive,” she announced, her eyes steely and firm. “If there is a present connection between its rampage and the spore drive, we want to identify it before putting the crew at risk.” Everyone in the room nodded, apart from Lorca, who looked off thoughtfully. 

 

“A hide that can withstand ba’leths and phasers set to kill,” he mused aloud. “Perhaps we could send in people to inspect it, see if we can adapt it into our armour. It would prove to be a powerful defence in any case.”

 

“Not until we are certain about the nature of the tardigrade,” said Michael. “You have good intention, Lorca, but it is too dangerous.”

 

“Dangerous?” he scoffed. “Captain Burnham, we are in a time of  _ war _ . Of course, we’d have to take risks to get what we need.”

 

“It’s my crew at stake,” Michael growled.

 

“You forget that I lost a crew too, and I’d do it again if I need to. We don’t have the luxury of safety anymore. Not in war. Surely partaking in more dangerous missions for the greater good is a sacrifice  _ logical  _ to you, captain?” Lorca’s eyes flashed, and the small meeting room boiled with tension. 

 

“I’ll do it,” Commander Landry said, stepping up. “Captain, please let me do this. I can lead a team to access the tardigrade, collect samples of the hide. I can vouch for their safety.”

 

Michael shook her head. “I’m grateful that you’re trying to seek a compromise, but you’re one of my best Security officers. I can’t risk losing you.” “It’s a risk worth taking,” she countered. “Lorca is right.”

 

“But --” Michael stopped her protest at the realisation that she was cornered. She’d always hated it when she was cornered, especially when she knew that she was right. She clenched her fists under her desk until they trembled at the effort.

 

“How about this,” Doctor Culber stood up, raising his hand. “Paul -- er, Lieutenant Stamets and I can read through the reports of the Glenn, run our own scans on the tardigrade. We’ll see if we can find any way of stabilising him. We’ll work as quickly as we can, so we can hand our time to Commander Landry, if necessary.”

 

“That would be nice.” Michael released a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. 

 

“Landry, show our guests from the Glenn their quarters. Stamets, Culber, you’re dismissed to begin your investigation.”

 

“Yes, Captain,” they said before moving to their respective jobs.

 

Lorca stopped by Michael as he exited the room. “You’re not a bad lass yourself, Burnham,” he chuckled. “But weakness during the war isn’t something to be proud of.”

 

“Perhaps, Lorca, you would find a peaceful resolution and extra caution beneficial in this war effort. This is the way I run this ship.”

 

Lorca cocked his head. “Perhaps you’ll need an extra hand from me, then.”

 

“They call me captain, not you,” Michael folded her arms. “Meanwhile, kick back, and enjoy your guest suite, Lorca.”

 

“As you command, ma’am,” he smirked.

 

***

 

“Computer, what time is it?”

 

_ The time is 0240 hours. _

 

“Dear Lord, Hugh, why did we even agree to do this?” Stamets growled as he flipped through the files from the Glenn. 

 

Culber turned to face him, ending his scan of the tardigrade’s digestive systems. “Because, Paul, love, we promised Captain Burnham that we would do this before passing it over to Landry’s team.”

 

“I should very much like for Ripper to shred her anyway until it’s resting in a pile of Landry-face confetti.” Stamets puffed grouchily, holding his knees to his chest. 

 

“You’re just saying that because you haven’t slept in 36 hours,” Culber said breezily, arranging data at a counter.

 

“Neither have you,” he countered. “How are you having it so well?”

 

“I’m a doctor. Sleep is a thing of the past.”

 

“Well, I’m done here,” Stamets said. “Straal didn’t say anything about the tardigrade’s individual behaviour.”

 

“He’s Straal, he wouldn’t have looked to check,” Culber retorted. 

 

“Come to bed soon, will you?” Stamets kissed him on the cheek, stroking his stubble as he did. Culber held his hand in place for a while before letting it go.

 

“Just a bit longer,” he promised. “I’m drawing up some conclusions.”

 

“Any of them good?”

 

“I doubt it,” he announced in a grave voice. At Stamet’s changed expression, his eyes softened. 

 

“I’ll update you as soon as possible, I promise. Now off to bed with you, you grumpy, sleep-deprived toddler.”

 

“I am  _ not  _ a todd--” 

 

“Out,” Culber commanded, pointing to the door, although a small smirk was creeping up his face. 

 

The table screen beeped as his results came in. Culber adjusted his reading glasses.

 

“Oh, no.”

 

***

 

“Hi again,” Lorca said as he entered the meeting room, packed with senior officers and Michael, sitting at the head of the table. “I gather we’re here because our officers have some conclusions about the tardigrade.”

 

“Yes, Doctor Culber and Lieutenant Stamets have been very efficient in their work, and they’ve gone out of their way to ensure that we could have the results as soon as possible.” Michael motioned to the two officers, to which weak applause ensued. 

 

“You think?” Stamets muttered under his breath, taking a generous drink of his coffee.

 

Michael ignored his statement. “Well, what did your findings conclude?”

“I’m afraid we have bad news,” Stamets said, standing up. “While Straal literally had nothing down on the wellbeing of this creature, Dr Culber ran some tests on the tardigrade’s different systems. All of them concluded that whilst being used for the spore drive, the tardigrade undergoes a large amount of excruciating pain, causing stress to the creature and severely impacting its physical and mental state.”

 

“Captain -- er, captains,” Culber stood up as well. “The use of the tardigrade for the spore drive is not sustainable. When he attacked, it wasn’t out of malice -- it was out of self-defence, a will, a pressing need to escape. It needed, and will always need, to be free.”

 

“I get what you’re saying here, we’ve had this debate over space whales,” Lorca said, raising a hand and stopping them. “But do we really need to care for the  _ feelings  _ of this one tardigrade? We have a war to fight out there.” 

 

“And here’s your data analysis on the hide components of the tardigrade,” Stamets snapped, handing him a data PADD. “Upon reaction with the spores, he calmed down greatly and we were safely able to extract the DNA you would need from him to start weaponry development.” 

 

“Thank you,” he said, barely eyeing it before pushing it over to Landry. “But the spore drive itself, it requires the tardigrade for the most accurate cross-space navigation. We can’t give up the tardigrade for that.”

 

“That’s where I disagree,” said Michael. “It belongs in the wild. We have no right to hurt a sentient creature for our own benefit. War or no war, we cannot let loose of our Starfleet principles. We must treat these creatures with the respect they deserve.

 

“It is evident that this tardigrade suffers whenever we use it for our own gain. We cannot allow this to happen, even if it guarantees efficient passage. Our scientists have extracted samples of the tardigrade, both for weaponry needs and the need of advancing the spore drive. Stamets and his team are smart people. I have the fullest faith that they will be able to figure it out. But torturing an animal, taking it away from its homeworld and its civilisation for its personal gains is not the way.”

 

Lorca narrowed his eyes even as the Stamets and Culber nodded. “Detmer, what do you think?”

 

Keyla cleared her throat. “I’m in agreement with Captain Burnham, sir,” she said, her eyes shining with the faintest hint of fond memory. “This tardigrade deserves to be free.”

 

“Saru?” 

 

“As a psychiatrist in training, I believe freedom would be in the best interest of any sentient creature.”

 

“I must admit I see the reason in Captain Burnham’s view,” Landry said, smiling at Michael. “Besides, the tardigrade remains a looming threat as long as it sees humans as stressors.”

 

Michael had to hide her joy at Landry’s approval. The rest of them that came from the Shenzhou would, no doubt, share the ideals of working in the interest of alien creatures, yet Landry, with a background in warfare, would have been a harder one to convince. 

 

“Well, Captain, in the interests of the crew and the tardigrade, I think Ripper will return to.. Wherever he came from, really,” Keyla said to her captain.

 

“Fine, fine, do whatever you want,” Lorca said, but even he had to stop himself from grinning.

 

“I’d take a happy and free Ripper is over a shredded ship any day.”

 

 

\---

 

_ghe''or chIm 'ej Hoch veqlargh naDev._   
_qatlh vaj tu'lu'be' maghwI' DaSum?_   
_nguvmoH ghaj jeD 'Iw ghaj tlhIv je SoHbogh Hoch nIv._   
_DaH qul meQ puS DechtaHvIS_   
_wa' coin, rears ghaH ghe''or mangpu'_   
_wa' vI'Iprup tu'lu'be' yIra', jaw l'rell toy'._   
_quakes chal 'ej QuQ;meQ tel boQqa'pu'_   
_'ach wa' be'nal lIj chaH, chaH lach'eghDI' SIQ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... oh my.


	8. Aurora Fantasy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! My regular chapter posting of once every two months! Don't we all just love writer's block :D
> 
> No, I swear I won't be as slow anymore. With newer content being released on Season 2 this little fangirl just can't stop but write! My personal goal is to finish this book by the end of 2018, so hopefully we wrap this one up and I don't get sidetracked (too much) on oneshots.
> 
> This chappie's a bit... unconventional, so hang in there! I'll work to get a new one out asap so you guys can really understand what's going on. For the meantime! I'll see you at the end of the chapter :)

Meditation. A soul’s refuge after a long, thankless day of fighting. 

 

The gentle hum of the ambient engine melts away, and a rush of cool air surrounds Michael. She opens her eyes. Stars. She was surrounded by stars and mist.

 

Michael frowns. She had been to this place once, in a mind-meld with one of her Vulcan peers. It was in the interlacing of their minds that she was brought here, to this place, the place in the stars.

 

Something had happened during her meditation. A connection she hasn’t been aware of, an awakening. Michael swallows, reminding herself that as long as she was in her quarters, she would be safe. The tricks of the mind remained in the mind. She walks forward, feeling as though she was floating on water with every step, looking around.

 

_ “Michael.” _

 

The stars melted away to reveal a tree, a lone oak in the expanse of a green meadow. Beneath that tree was a figure, standing, one hand resting on the firm wood of the trunk. 

 

_ Is that you?   _ Michael wondered, her eyes widening and watering at the same time. 

 

_ “It’s me.”  _

 

Of course, it was. Michael’s legs moved of their own accord, running, running through the meadow, into her arms, her touch. 

 

_ I’ve missed you.  _

 

_ “And I you.”   _ Philippa clung to her, her fingers digging deep into her shoulder blades, her whole self trembling as she held Michael close to her, until the both of them were trembling with tears, knelt together under the shade of the tree.

 

_ Where have you been?  _ Michael wondered silently as her hands touched Philippa for the first time in a long while, first her face, then her neck, her shoulders, her arms, then her fingers, interlacing with her own. 

 

_ “You’re doing well, Michael, so well. You’re compassionate, kind, fair. You’ve grown well.”  _ Philippa brushed her face, cupping her cheek with an air of familiar fondness. 

 

_ I still have so much to learn.  _ Michael admitted, leaning into her hand, letting her vanilla-scented warmth waft around her.

 

Philippa smiled, her gaze softening.  _ “Experience comes with time. This is where you’ll have trouble with, dear. You’re ever so impatient.”  _ Her chuckle pained Michael, tugging at her heartstrings. 

 

Michael laughed breathily.  _ Oh, if only… if only you were here with me. You could teach me. Advise me.  _

 

_ “I’m can’t be with you anymore.”   _ Her voice rang, so clearly and mournfully, in Michael’s ears, and her heart stopped beating for a second, but a second too much. 

 

_ No, you  _ can’t  _ be dead. You  _ can’t  _ be.  _ Could you cry without words? Tears flew down Michael’s face in a stream as she pressed her forehead to Philippa’s, relishing the warmth that seeped from it. It felt real. Human. She had to be real.

 

Was she real? Please let her be real.

 

_ I can’t lose you again.  _ Michael pleaded silently, refusing to let go of her hand. 

 

_ “Oh, my sweet love, you already have.”  _ Philippa’s eyes, as Michael studied them, grew dull, void of hope. This wasn’t the Philippa Michael knew, the Philippa who had so much life in her. In her own right, Philippa was right, if it was even a real Philippa talking to her right now. 

 

_ I can’t!  _ Michael protested anyway. Philippa  _ came _ to her. It couldn’t possibly be so just so she could be ripped away, taking whatever was left of her grieving heart with her ghost. 

 

_ “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”  _ Philippa pleaded, hushing her, comforting her, stroking her hair. 

 

_ No.  _ Michael could have wailed as she leaned into Philippa, wishing she was more real than just a figment of her imagination.

 

_ You look tired,  _ she mumbled absently, tracing the creases on Philippa’s forehead, memorising her features before they faded forever, for a second time.

 

_ “So tired, Michael,”  _ she confessed. 

 

In silence, they sat, not daring to talk to each other for fear they would remember each other too much. 

 

Michael continued stroking Philippa’s forehead as she lay down on her lap, the rhythmic movements soothing her heart, a final touch of sweetness before it crumbled in pain.

 

“Oh, you have a bump here,” Michael mumbled, thumbing an area on her forehead. “Did you hurt your head… somewhere?”

 

_ “No, I earned it.”   _ Her voice was surprisingly hard, steely. 

 

Confused, Michael turned to face her. “Earned what?”

 

Before her eyes, the small bump she’d been massaging spread across Philippa’s forehead, as her entire head morphed and changed at surprising speed, new structures interlacing her face, crossing in an intricate lattice. Philippa fell back as her face grew ghostly pale, and then grey.

 

Michael backed away slowly, gasping at the sight that greeted her as Philippa writhed and transformed in front of her. 

Philippa screamed.

 

Michael stared at her blankly, realising sluggishly that she was looking at the pained face of a Klingon. 

 

_ “Run!”  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That... was that! I've been reading too much classic lit for me to even write properly anymore, rip. 
> 
> Send all critique and comments my way! I'd like to hear what you think.


	9. Today is a Good Day to Die

“Michael, as you should know, my training doesn’t equip myself to help you through situations professionally.”

 

Saru called after Michael as she stormed into his quarters in a flurry of urgent panic. 

 

“I know, Saru, that’s why I came to you, not Sickbay.”

 

“Very well,” Saru muttered, pursing his lips together in a downward curve. “Why don’t you have a seat?” 

 

“I would be able to if you turned on the lights in here.”

 

“Oh, right, you can see,” Saru said, before asking the computer to turn the lights up. If Michael hadn’t been so troubled with what she had just seen, she would definitely have smirked. 

 

With illumination in the question, she was able to see how Saru’s quarters were furnished. She noted the careful placing of a fluffy carpet, twisting as if it were a road around the space, allowing Saru to walk along to get to where he had to be. She went over to the coffee table and noticed a few dots raised on the surface of the table. Subtle and small, but a guiding system for setting down a tray of food, or the like. Of course, whenever she neared any furniture, an audio guidance system would quietly but solemnly warn her of proximity.

 

“Maybe try the couch,” said Saru dryly, already seated with a data PADD in hand. 

 

“I -- Of course, I’m sorry, I was admiring this little system of yours.” There was a small sensor, disguised cleverly as an insignia built in the furniture, on almost every piece in his room. 

 

“It isn’t quite the most elegant when I have guests around, but it works. Keyla designed this for me with some help from the engineers aboard the Glenn. Some way or other she managed to have your Engineering team replicate the exact same set.” Saru stroked the edge of the couch fondly, which bore the star shape masking the sensor. 

 

Michael sat down next to him silently, pulling her knees to her chest, letting out a long, heaving sigh.

 

“What’s wrong, Michael?” Saru prompted gently. “I’m not happy about it, but I also care about you enough to let you in my quarters at 0300 hours.”

 

Michael rubbed her palms over her face, massaging the dark circles underneath her eyes. “I’m sorry for waking you, Saru. But I was meditating earlier and I saw something… unnerving, one may say.”

 

“Go on.”

 

“Saru, are you familiar with the connection of souls in Vulcan meditation?”

 

“I have been reading up on mind melds, if that’s what you’re asking,” Saru offered, shifting to sit a little straighter. Michael frowned, shaking her head. “I sense I’ve mistaken something, Captain.”

 

“Sorry, Saru,” Michael puffed heavily. “I appreciate your help, but I wasn’t referring to a mind meld. It’s… when we  _ connect _ to each other, but through meditation. It’s sort of like… a communications link, if it helps.”

 

Saru nodded slowly. “Do you think someone was trying to reach out to you, Michael?” 

 

Slowly, Michael shook her head. “No, the thing is, Saru… I don’t think you can really control who you want to connect with. It’s more like…”

 

“A projection of the subconscious?” 

 

“Exactly.” 

 

“Alright,” Saru pressed a few buttons on his PADD, jotting it down. “You’ll excuse me, Michael, it’s part of my training in psychiatry to update notes from time to time.” “Naturally,” Michael agreed. 

 

“So what happened, Michael? Did you ‘connect’ with anyone, per se?”

 

A stab of pain jolted in Michael’s chest, before unfurling and spreading like a flower blooming, spreading all across her body, like poison threatening to infect and kill every living cell within her, reducing her to nothing but grief, bitter grief. She choked down the pain, clenching at her throat and her chest.  _ Why now, Philippa?  _

 

“Michael?” The Kelpien prompted. 

 

“If I may estimate… would I be incorrect in guessing that you connected with the Captain, Michael?”

 

“Lorca?” Michael asked, feigning innocence. 

 

“Georgiou.”

 

So he knew. 

 

“It probably bore no significance anyway,” Michael said quickly, suddenly uncomfortable with the situation. “Perhaps it’s just… grief. It just hits harder for some people than others.”

 

“If it bore no significance, why would you come knocking at my door at 0300 hours?”

Annoyingly, Saru was right again. Michael huffed a sigh, clasping her hands together. “I can’t seem to make anything of it. I don’t understand why I would see Georgiou now, of all times. And  _ why?  _ What was she trying to show me? I don’t get it.”

 

“It was too real to be a dream, Saru. It had to be real. But we’ve never done so much as a mind meld together. That’s what’s unnerving. Somehow, she found her way to me. And by the looks of things… I don’t even know if I’m speaking to a spirit or a ghost.” Tears began spilling out of Michael’s eyes once more, and she clasped a hand over her mouth hastily. 

 

The Kelpien tilted his head to one side. 

 

“Well, Michael… some connections are perhaps not formed through the mind, but the soul.” 

 

It chilled Michael’s heart and set it pulsing red at the same time.

 

***

 

“Captain to the Bridge!”

 

Michael jolted from her seat, almost dropping her PADD. At once she leapt to her feet and charged from her ready room to a bridge that was flashing with red. The entire crew was on the move, jamming at screens, yelling over each other. Complete chaos ensued, and Michael swore she could hear photon torpedoes firing out of the ship. 

 

“Who ordered the red alert?” Michael demanded, but to no one’s notice. She ran to the captain’s chair, only to find Lorca already seated in it, swivelling around to instruct station from station. 

 

“Lorca!” she greeted him with a shout after a few failed attempts to get his notice by tapping his shoulder.

 

“Ah, Captain Burnham. The chair is yours,” he hopped out graciously, allowing her to slide in. “Evasive manoeuvres, Detmer!” he shouted at Helm, where Detmer was seated next to the ensign who piloted the Discovery. With a nod, Detmer busied herself at the dashboard, and the ship turned sharply almost immediately. 

 

“Captain Lorca, what’s going on?” she asked as the ship shook with another strike to the hull.

 

“Shields holding,” Rhys reported from the back.

 

“We’re under attack by the Klingon flagship, Burnham. Backup is being sent as we speak,” Lorca briefed quickly, a grave look on his face. Michael’s blood turned to ice, adrenaline pulsing through her body. 

 

“The Klingon flagship? The Sarcophagus?”

 

“No, this one is much larger and more powerful,” Owoseskun interjected from her seat. “They call it the Renaissance.”

 

If she was shaking, Michael tried not to show it in her poise. “On screen.” 

 

It was the size of a dozen starbases. More than that, even. Michael’s jaw dropped at the sight of the monstrosity that loomed over the Discovery. It wasn’t even a flagship.

 

“That’s a city,” she breathed in horror. 

 

Michael whipped around to Lorca. “How many people are coming for reinforcements?” He stared at her, deadpan. 

 

“Basically the whole fleet.”

 

As if on cue, ships began dropping out of warp. The Clarke, the Edison, the Shran… all ships that had gathered to fight by the Shenzhou, to fight by Philippa’s side at the Battle of the Binary Stars, now flocked around the Discovery for Michael. 

 

As more and more of the fleet sparked into existence before Michael’s eyes, a new fervour charged her, pulsing, stronger than ever. A new battle was beginning, but this time, the Federation won’t be sent coming back with their tails between their legs. 

Her lips curled into a snarl; and from her lips came one command that she had never wished to ever say, but couldn’t come fast enough at times as such.

 

“Fire!” 

 

***

 

The first time Michael ever saw a meteor shower aboard a starship was in her second year of serving on the Shenzhou.

 

Philippa had summoned her into her ready room for a lecture on how she had treated a crewmate. Michael, then, had failed to see the need for a correction on her actions. 

 

Before any of them could even begin stating their case, an asteroid flew past the window, drawing a long arch of light across both of their gazes. And another one joined its ranks, and another, until the sight before them was a flurry of lights, raining down upon them, blinking swiftly into existence before blazing out, never to be seen again. 

 

It had been the most beautiful thing Michael had seen in her life. Even Philippa, who had been mildly annoyed, breathed with wonder, her anger momentarily forgotten.

 

Now, instead of stars, pure and beautiful, Michael watched as a peresid of torpedoes were flung towards the flagship. 

 

Blast after blast they watched parts hull of the flagship shattered, the debris falling into space. Their shields deflected weakly before blinking out of existence, leaving the ship exposed to the Federation’s teeth. One after the other, the ship tore after the Renaissance, going at it from every angle possible, that the ship, large as it was, was helpless to retaliate against so many at once. 

 

Michael frowned as her ship swayed to dodge a weakly fired strike from the Renaissance. Even though an entire fleet of ships would be fully capable of overpowering any Klingon technology, the Renaissance seemed… weak. Like it had no spur to fight back. Like it was a trojan horse waiting for their next move, as soon as Starfleet had obliterated to pieces.

 

“Fire weapons, and aim at the exposed hull!” Lorca called from somewhere to her right.

 

“No, Lorca, wait --” 

 

“Their shields are failing, we could win this!” A gleeful cry whose voice Michael couldn’t pinpoint came from somewhere behind her.

 

“No, wait!” 

 

“What do you stall for, Burnham?” Lorca whipped over to face her, his growl low and menacing. He leaned closer to the seated captain such that his breath was hot on her face. “We are about to win this thing, and all you can think about is withholding. What kind of coward are you? How deep are you in your sweet little utopia where no one dies?

 

“If we defeat the flagship, the victory belongs to Starfleet. How can you not understand that? Or are you sympathetic for those… animals?”

 

Michael swallowed, forcing herself to meet the gaze of the furious captain.  _ This is my ship,  _ she reminded herself. “Something isn’t right with the whole situation. It feels as though the Renaissance is letting us lose.”

 

“Nonsense,” Lorca scoffed in reply. “That only means that we have gotten stronger, and they weaker. Ready spatial torpedoes!” he shouted, loud enough for the entire bridge to hear. 

 

“Belay that order!”

 

Landry burst from the turbolift, running towards Michael at once. Lorca was too shocked by the ferocity in her stride that he didn’t dare retaliate. He lowered his hand, an instruction for Tactical to stop what they were doing.

 

“Captain, there’s something wrong with the Renaissance. They’re not actively retaliating. I’ve been analysing the data,” Landry said, swiftly handing Michael a PADD. 

 

“Whatever the Klingons are planning, Captain, that can’t be good.” 

 

“So you’ve noticed as well,” Michael breathed thoughtfully, scrolling through the files Landry had passed her. And she was right: though it was ten times the size of the Sarcophagus, the Klingon flagship hadn’t even made a dent on a single ship, let alone an entire fleet of them. Her skin prickled at the uncanniness of it all.

 

“It’s as though… they’re trying to send a message.”

 

“A distraction, perhaps?” Lorca offered, peering at the PADD in Michael’s hand. “But why use such a large flagship? What are they hiding?” 

 

“Whatever it is, it can’t be good,” Landry concluded. She and Michael exchanged a brief glance before Michael stood up. 

 

“You’re right. Airiam, you have the Bridge. Landry, hail Admiral Cornwell for me.” Michael started for her ready room. “Lorca, with me. Landry, too.” 

 

The three of them entered the room just as the admiral’s transmission flickered to life. 

 

“What is this?” she demanded, her hands folded behind her back. 

 

Michael began projecting Landry’s findings on a screen so that the admiral could see. “The Klingons have significantly more firepower than this,” she presented, her brows furling. “It’s illogical that the flagship should be unable to fend off at least one of our ships. As things would have it, there hasn’t even been one injury aboard the Discovery, and we were up against it alone before you arrived.”

 

“So you’re saying… that it’s as though they’re holding back? Or they’re trying to send a message?” 

 

“It could also very well be a distraction. Let us weaken our defences before bringing on a new wave of refreshed Klingon vessels,” Landry commented as she began pacing the floor. 

 

“Either way, this is definitely suspicious,” Admiral Cornwell agreed, folding her arms over each other. “Captain Burnham, tell your officers to stand down apart from defensive actions. I’ll alert other captains of the same. Dismissed, and thank you for bringing this to my attention. Get back out there!” 

 

Immediately, all of them turned to leave. 

 

“Oh, and Gabriel?” She addressed Lorca specifically, stopping him in his tracks. 

 

“Stay safe. You too, ladies,” Admiral Cornwell called before her transmission blinked out. 

 

Michael came out of the ready room to find Airiam instructing Tactical to fire a final blow to fully damage the flagship once and for all. It seemed as though other ships were preparing to do the same. 

 

“Airiam, no!” she cried, running towards the captain’s chair. 

 

It was too late. A collective blast from the entire fleet struck the flagship, and a large chunk of it came off at once, the rest holding, just barely, by shields. Just like that, the Klingon Renaissance was defeated. There was no way they didn’t have to abandon ship now. There was no way they could even fight back. 

 

“Captain, there’s a coming transmission from the Renaissance. It’s broadcasting on all Federation wavelengths.”

 

“It’s for us,” Lorca commented quietly.

 

“On screen, Detmer,” Michael said, her heart beating at a mile a minute. Was this it? The Klingon endgame? Had she been too late? 

 

A grey Klingon, dressed in armour, greeted them all. Her face, though bleeding, bore an almost smug snarl.

 

“Greetings, Federation,” she said in slow but articulate Federation Standard. “The Renaissance will cause mass destruction upon all. The Klingons will fight on with honour, and we will prevail victoriously.”

 

“How can this be?” Michael found herself articulating, loud enough for the Klingon to hear through the transmission. “We’ve defeated your flagship. You have nothing left.” 

 

The Klingon chuckled at first, then laughed, laughed that her teeth, bloodstained, were showing, and her roars echoed through the entire deck. “You have been spared at the mercy of the Berserker. But no longer!” 

 

“The Berserker?” Michael challenged. “Is this someone as weak as you?” 

 

“You fools! I am  _ Chancellor _ L’Rell, but even I am just a servant to the Berserker.” 

 

“Captain, the Renaissance is regenerating at an incredible speed,” Rhys cried. “And they’re bringing out weapons stronger than ever! We have no means of deflecting such technology.”

 

“What?” Michael swung to face him, but he suddenly gasped at the sight on the screen, drawing Michael’s attention back to the transmission. 

 

L'Rell took a step back to reveal the Berserker.

 

Michael’s heart froze. It seemed not like a Klingon at all. The Berserker, though clad in black and golden armour, was skinny, frail. It had hair, tightly bunned at the back of her head. On her forehead were no ridges, no marks of a Klingon, but soft, flesh-toned skin, almost as if it were a human. Her eyes were dark, broken, dripping with all the malice and cruelty Michael had ever known in her life; yet, there was something about her, something Michael  _ knew  _ at first glance… 

 

“Fire!” The transmission blinked out, and at once the Discovery shook with the impact of a collision. 

 

And then it hit her. 

 

_ Philippa! Philippa is the Berserker!  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's really bad at posting chapters bimonthly? -points to self-
> 
> Alright, I've been gone, I'll admit. Hopefully, they'll come back more often than once every two months, now that Season Two is in full swing and gives me plenty of material to play with. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and stay tuned for more! Thank you for reading!


	10. To Fight for Her Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I know my posting hasn't been regular, so if you haven't read the entire book cohesively for a long time, I do recommend starting from the top and making your way to this chapter, just for a refresher. Enjoy!

A trap.

 

This was all that could run through Philippa’s mind as she fell out into the cold abyss around her.

 

Some go out writhing until they suffocate prematurely. But shock paralyses Philippa as she floats amongst the shattered debris of the shuttle, no helmet around her head, no other form of oxygen. It is so cold, and her insides lurch and tug and ache until they were threatening to burst. She wants to cry out but she knows she wouldn’t be heard anyways, so instead, she forces herself to save her breath, save her strength and _stay_ _alive._

 

Next to her, from the corner of her eye, she saw Saru squirming, kicking at the air, covering his eyes with his hands as his entire body started to freeze from the barren coldness of space. His mouth opens in a futile gasp, or perhaps a scream for help.

 

 _Shut up!_ It was a waste of precious breath and strength. Philippa clung onto the hope that the Shenzhou would somehow swoop in and beam them up, and for that, she had to stay alive and buy them time for the lock.

 

Detmer. Lieutenant Detmer, where _was_ she? She was nowhere to be seen in sight, and Philippa daren’t crane her neck to search. All she could do was hope and trust the Shenzhou.

 

And trust Michael.

 

That Philippa could do immensely, for there was no one else she knew better, for having taught Michael for so long, it was as though she saw much of herself in Michael. But there was also something else about her Number One that Philippa remembered. Such kindness and loveliness in her, a gentleness that could come from no one but herself. Such a sweetness, an eagerness to learn, a willingness to be vulnerable around Philippa, that to this day she wondered if her teachings had done her trust any justice.

 

And now, she wondered if she would ever get to see Michael’s face ever again.

 

She was right. Of course she was. It was too suspicious, that the Klingons would open their arms to welcome them for a peace talk. It happened too fast, and it was too illogical a thing to happen. But Philippa, ever driven by optimism, believed what she wanted to happen.

 

By losing sight of the big picture, Philippa may never see Michael again. Never get to tuck loose strands of hair behind her ears, ever rounded as a human’s should be. Never get to lean on her shoulder as they gazed the stars from Philippa’s quarters. Never get to bark orders at her and know that they would be delivered perfectly. She would never again get to thank Michael, or fight with Michael, or care for her. No amount of wishing could possibly buy her time to say one last thing to her.

 

Perhaps it was words withheld too long, by cowardice or professionalism, or simply both. But better late than ever, if she ever had the chance.

 

_If I make it back, Michael, I’ll let you smirk and say “I told you so.” And I’ll let myself be honest with you. Completely honest._

 

She mouthed the words just as she felt herself being mercifully pulled from the suffocating void that had started to close her eyes for her.

 

***

 

Philippa gasped for air. That was the most important part. Oxygen. Life.

 

“Keyla, Saru, are you alright?” she demanded as she fumbled to sit up.

 

“I’m afraid the ‘Keyla’ and ‘Saru’ you call for are people you won’t see for a very, very long time.”

 

“What?” Philippa scrambled to her feet, blinking the blurriness out of her eyes. At once, one thing was certain: it was not the Shenzhou she was on. The second thing: she was facing a Klingon with pearl-white skin, clad in armour of crimson. Standing next to him, with some sort of device in her hands, was another grey Klingon.

 

“Behold, Voq, son of none, Torchbearer of T’Kuvma, and his mate, the honourable Lady L’Rell.”

 

Philippa itched to reach for her phaser, concealed within a pocket in her dress uniform, which Michael had made her carry. Instead, she forced herself to remain calm and not assign malignance without cause. If she were to die anyway, she would rather be remembered as the peaceful diplomat, lost by the Klingons’ treacherous hand, rather than the one who aggravated the Klingons and was killed out of their defence. She had to stick to the benefit of doubt if she had to stay alive.

 

“And I am Captain Philippa Georgiou of the USS Shenzhou,” she said, swallowing the fear from her voice. “I was under the impression that we would be received… gracefully, in T’Kuvma’s words.”

 

Voq only chuckled in response, a sound that raised the hairs on Philippa’s neck as the sound rolled across the room.

 

“Where is your lord T’Kuvma? We were promised an audience with him,” she asked again, her voice faltering. L’Rell sneered from behind her, making her jump. “We were sent by T’Kuvma… for you.”

 

“Am I now your prisoner of war, then? Captured without honour, but deception and dirty cunning? I thought that to be beyond Klingons such as you.” It was a challenge weakly delivered, but Philippa still stood her ground as the pair circled her and hissed as she talked of dishonour.

 

Tilting his head to one side, Voq spoke. “You are much more than a prisoner, Philippa Georgiou. You will be the downfall of the Federation, traitor to your so beloved Starfleet. You will win the war for the Klingons.”

 

“You would have to do much better to get information out of me,” Philippa said, quickly reaching for her phaser, only to find the bulge gone from her pocket. To her dismay, she looked up to see Voq stroking the weapon with a curiously smug face. He must have taken it without Philippa’s noticing. “How quaint,” he mused, examining the phaser half-heartedly. “We had an idea you would say that.”

 

“ _L’Rell! HIghoS!”_

 

In a swift motion, Voq twisted Philippa’s arms and pinned her down, her head knocking against the floor so hard that her teeth rattled. Before Philippa could even begin to struggle, L’Rell stepped up to her, the device she held gleaming in her hands.

 

“Let me go!” Philippa cried as she writhed in futility, too weak to fight against the grasp of a Klingon. She shuddered as L’Rell attached the device to her temples. “No!”

 

Philippa heard herself screaming before L’Rell’s words, uttered in Klingon, cuing the searing pain to penetrate her skull, leaving her entire head in burning chaos, a suffocating mess, so painful that she would rather be floating around in space, unprotected.

 

She opened her mouth, but she would only waste her strength as she cried to ears who would not help her.

 

***

L’Rell’s voice sounded like a faraway entity when she removed Philippa’s headpiece and placed it in her pocket for safekeeping. “There is so much more in store for you, Philippa Georgiou. Something new every day, until you bend to your fate.”

 

“What… do… you… want?” Philippa hissed through gritted teeth, her fists clenched tightly together as she breathed through the remnants of her torture. She stared at L’Rell, only to find malice in her eyes, so poisonous that scared Philippa even more than the actual torture.

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually post every two weeks, but I do have something planned for Valentine's Day. Be sure to look forward to that! :)
> 
> Comments? Critique? Comments box they go!


	11. Musings of a Trojan Horse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I would try for a bimontly update schedule, but hey, life kicks ass. Anyways, here you are! Enjoy!

“They broke her. They  _ broke  _ her.” 

 

Michael paced the room with such an agitation that it seemed as though her footsteps were licked by flames. Sitting at the table in her ready room was Admiral Cornwell, her hand folded over her chest. Lorca leaned against the wall, a hand drawn over his mouth. None of them replied to what Michael said, instead seeming lost in their own thoughts. 

 

If anyone were to walk into the room as of now, they would only find a tense silence, as if they had woven a thick spider’s web over the entire room. Not that, at this point in time, they would have allowed such information to leak beyond anyone who had witnessed it on the Bridge. 

 

“There’s  _ no  _ way Philippa would have offered her help voluntarily. They  _ tortured  _ her. Broke her down and rewired her brain entirely.  _ They  _ did this to her. To… to Philippa.” Michael was rambling now, barely making any sense out of herself. 

 

Before they could make an official Fleet-wide announcement and determine their next move, however, they had some confidential decisions to make.

 

“We have to go for her. She’s suffering over there, acting as a puppet for the Klingons to manipulate us at their will. We can’t them use Philippa to control us. The only solution is that we return her to Starfleet.” 

 

“Who’s to say that her loyalties will stick?” Lorca grunted from his corner, his eyes sharply grey in the dark. “You heard from the Chancellor herself -- she works for the Klingons now. She designed and heads the flagship that has obliterated a big chunk of the fleet. Maybe the Klingons will let us win her back, yes, but it could be another trick up their sleeve. 

 

“Do you know why we lost the battle with the Renaissance? It was because they let us think we won, and in our state of relief they brought out the big guns. It would be downright stupid to let our guard down around her. There is no merit in bringing her back. She could be a trojan horse. She could never be able to work for Starfleet again. She could be feeding intel back to the Klingons as you try to rehabilitate her. She’s good for nothing, and she’s not either them or us. A hybrid. That’s a liability.”

 

“Don’t you  _ dare  _ say that,” Michael growled, slapping a hand on the table so hard that it raised an eyebrow from the admiral. “Philippa served the crew for years in her life, always hoping that it would lead to something better for the Federation, and better for this world around us. She has the spark of compassion that has kept so many civilisations  _ alive,  _ instead of just one species taking dominion. This isn’t what Starfleet is. You’d have to get through a lot more hurdles than just me if you insinuate, for one moment, that we abandon all of the beliefs that Philippa instilled in us, everything about hope, and second chances, and faith, just because you  _ fear  _ it is a liability. It means you get nothing done, Captain Lorca. Are you sure you want that? To be stuck in a stalemate with the Klingons when the obvious right thing to do is to bring our fellow captain and devoted civil servant home?”

 

For a while, no one in that room spoke, for they were momentarily startled by the amount of vigour and emotion Michael put in every word she uttered. It was nothing they had seen of her before, not even when she was directly under Philippa’s care -- however, it seemed as though Philippa had nurtured the human part of Michael well, as she showed it with such valour that almost scared the two older people. Still, Captain Lorca stepped up to her, his breathing so heavy and thick that Michael took a step back. 

 

“Fine. Endanger billions of lives for one people. Watch as we succumb to the Klingons -- which is exactly what they want -- just for this one little woman you are so attached to. What does she even mean to you, Michael? Surely, your  _ logic _ wouldn’t place the life of one mentor above the many others you’ve had in your life?”

 

Using Michael’s strengths against herself. It was a classic move, tactful, but full of distaste, and Michael was prepared to bite. “You shut your damn mouth, Lorca. If there’s one thing I can tell you about Philippa Georgiou --”

 

“Alright, stop the bickering, you two.” Admiral Cornwell stood stiffly, her hands folded tightly behind her back, her shoulders broad with authority. Under the subtle catch of light on her badge, one thing was clear: she was in charge. 

 

“I’ve made my decision. And I would like to restate that the two of you have been no help whatsoever.” 

 

As her silence hung in the air Michael felt as though her lungs were threatening to burst from her lack of breathing. But still, nothing escaped her body as it tensed in anticipation as to what the admiral had in store for the fleet’s most valuable prisoner of war.

 

_ Well?  _

 

“This is not simply our decision to make. We’ll be having a meeting about this. More consultants will be invited.”

 

Michael’s breath escaped in a hissed sigh. She leaned against a chair, almost exhausted with relief. Still, she watched Lorca with narrowed eyes.

 

It wasn’t an answer, but as long as there was hope, Michael would take it. 

 

***

 

The sight that greeted Michael’s eyes were arguably one of the most intimate yet intensive congregations she had seen in her life. Ultimately, a gathering of the old Shenzhou crew, all chattering while crammed in a meeting room on the Discovery, was as like a hall of ghosts.

 

Some members, Michael noted with regret, weren’t able to make it out of the Glenn alive. There were faces missing; faces that left the jigsaw of the historical crew unfinished, unwhole. But, as Philippa had once told Michael, her crew was always dynamic and ever-changing. New people took places of the old, and together new stories were formed.

 

Michael surveyed the room and she realised that what she had said was true and in effect. Cadet Tilly, for example, she noticed chatting with Detmer, reaching out a curious hand to stroke her metal implant. Saru seemed to be listening intently to Dr Culber as they exchanged medical knowledge. Ensign Connor, now a lieutenant, was sharing the news animatedly with Januzzi.

 

The main invitations had been sent out to two groups of people: those who knew Philippa, and those who would be risking their lives to undergo the mission themselves -- the crew of the Discovery. A lot of people fell in both categories. Michael could only hope that they wouldn’t forsake their former captain in favour of their own lives. Not that there wasn’t more at stake. Her heart sank as her mind calculated, trying to pick out those who were most likely to object to such a rescue mission. 

 

“Hey.” Landry slid beside her, handing her a glass of water from the refreshments table, squeezed in a corner of the room. “Look, I know you’re nervous about this. But everyone here cares about the captain. I’m sure it’ll only take a really good reason to swing everyone here to decide otherwise.” Michael stared at her, caught by surprise. Forget Landry, she hadn’t expected anyone from the Discovery to so willingly consent to help a captain they didn’t know -- just another part of their ranks that would be lost to history. She paused, not knowing if she was disbelieving or unconvinced.

 

Landry noticed her hesitation. “Perhaps many of us haven’t served under Captain Georgiou, but she’s done a lot of those even outside of her crew. She was also my benefactor once.” Her gaze was wistful as she spoke, and Michael grew curious. But before she could ask, Landry moved away, leaving Michael to wonder how much of Philippa’s deeds had escaped even her notice. 

 

True to Landry’s words, as speeches and arguments began cycling the room not long after, much was said about what Philippa did. They were remembered with fondness, but more importantly, gratitude. Saru’s eloquent presentation on how Philippa had encouraged him to press on and apply for the Command Training Programme and pave the way for his species, in particular, brought tears to Michael’s eyes. 

 

More shockingly, there were even recollections of encounters that Michael had not expected to take place. Lieutenant Stamets, for example, told everyone how Philippa had encouraged him to pursue the man of his dreams, despite lingering stigma and personal insecurity about being an openly gay man in the ranks of Starfleet. And how ensign Emily Sullivan, while studying at the Academy, ran into Philippa during the period of their final examinations. 

 

“I mean, it was tough for me,” she said nervously in front of everyone. “That year in particular. I had just lost my sister, and there was this exam I just couldn’t fail because it would mean I’d be completely kicked out from the Academy. Captain Georgiou caught me having a… well, a mental breakdown in the library. And uh… she came back ten minutes later with a scone and a mug of tea. To this day, it remains one of the best-tasting meals I’d ever had in my life. Her kindness… it’s tangible, y’know. I don’t think it deserves to go unnoticed.” 

 

It was quite a task for Michael to wrap her head around all those stories told of Philippa. Done unto total strangers she had never met in her life, but on the sole basis that they needed care at that exact moment. It didn’t surprise her at all -- it was only classic of Philippa to go such lengths for those around her -- but the memory refreshed hurt Michael like no other. In that very moment, Michael craved her care, her kindness, her warmth in her life. She wished the world for Philippa’s touch and comfort. But it seemed so far away at this moment.

 

_ What are we doing here? Why aren’t you with me, at the front lines?  _

 

“Hi, um, can I say something?” Tilly wriggled from a cluster of officers, raising her hand awkwardly. Her nervous gaze darted to Admiral Cornwell, who waved her hand, signalling approval. 

 

“So… I haven’t really gotten to know Captain Georgiou much as a cadet. I mean, she did let me line up first for refreshments at my cohort’s farewell party, but that’s really about it. But like, I’ve studied her records, and I think one thing she does that is very central to Starfleet is that she looks out for every single person. In Starfleet. Like, no one gets left behind, a-and I think that’s super important to remember as an officer. She risked her life and her reputation multiple times to make sure all of us would be standing here today, one way or another. Behind the scenes, sometimes. I think we should return the favour. 

 

“I mean, I know it’s Klingons we’re talking about. They’re super tough and strong, and we’re barely making any dents in their defences as is. But if we really sit down and think, like, really put our heads and our expertise together, I think we can really do this. Like, strategise and everything. There’s got to be a way out.”

 

“If I may,” Saru piped in, his eyes shining with a sudden flash of inspiration, “I do believe that the only way to get the captain back to us is to directly infiltrate the flagship and beam her out. The Klingons may be hostile to ships and shuttles, but the ship itself is so massive that it’d be easy for us to mask the life signs of our away team.”

 

“Of course, with a cloak like that, it’d take months to comprehensively map out the Renaissance before we’re able to send in a group to conduct a search. And even then, we still wouldn’t know where Captain Georgiou would frequent, in her… duties, as the Klingon Berserker. The best we can do is to make educated guesses, and even then, it’s more of a miss than a hit. If the away team were to scout the entire ship discretely, even with a floor plan, it would take another month at least,” Landry pointed out. 

 

“Oh, consider this!” Tilly interjected quickly. “The Renaissance is so huge, it’s practically a city in the sky. To power an entire nation on a ship like that would require a ridiculous amount of --”

 

“-- Dilithium,” Stamets answered, the cogs in his minds swiftly turning. “A-and according to our scans, it’s something they’re constantly low on. They’re always on the prowl for it. It’s one of their highest priorities, one could assume.”

 

“So if we left them a gift --” 

 

“A small mine of dilithium on the edge of Federation space that seems to have escaped our notice --” 

 

“They would help themselves to it,” Saru concluded. “Which means…”

 

“If we could send in auto-piloted micro-probes with the dilithium, too small to be noticed, they would be able to map the ship down within three hours,” Airiam supplied, her own calculations running furiously in her head. 

 

“And the captain --” Conner added, with the wild urgency of an epiphany -- “If we could programme the probes to detect her life signs, then we should more or less be able to locate her when the away team beams down. Maybe we can even catch her at a less populated sector of the ship, minimise suspicion before we’re safely home.” 

 

“But we can’t just pull her out like that. Wouldn’t you think they would notice if the greatest general on the front lines, the  _ Klingon Berserker _ , went missing? If we want the captain out, we need a distraction,” Owoseskun argued.

 

“That’s when the Discovery steps in,” Michael breathed, barely audible for anyone to hear. All eyes turned to her, curious and alert. It finally came together. Michael knew how it could be done. 

 

“From our experience battling the Renaissance,” she said, raising her voice, “it has a powerful calculation system where it predicts evasive manoeuvres, and they aim at the trajectory of where the ship is predicted to go. It’s been… quite effective so far, to our regret. But,” she continued, a spark in her eye, “it would only be effective if it worked. If the ship moves elsewhere, it’s a serious drain of power, because the Renaissance fires  _ along  _ the manoeuvre trajectory. To force it to abruptly stop and aim elsewhere… done enough times, the weapons system would overload. 

 

“But the Discovery has an unpredictable evasive manoeuvre. One even the Klingons don’t know about.”

 

“The spore drive!” exclaimed Stamets. 

 

“We can jump,” Michael confirmed with a nod. “So, given enough times, and the right coordinates --”

 

“Boom,” the scientist concluded with a grin. 

 

“Airiam, do you think you can run simulations and calculate the most effective way to overload their weapons system?” Michael leaned across the table to address her Number One. “Working,” Airiam confirmed, tilting her head stiffly. Two seconds later, she resurfaced. “There are 274 combinations of coordinates that will be equally effective in overloading the weapons drive in 3 minutes and 27 seconds.” 

 

“Narrow it down to one for me,” Michael said quickly. She turned to Admiral Cornwell. “We can refine the details later and get started on preparations. Our mission should be prepared to launch in a few weeks’ time.” 

 

The admiral stood with a heaviness in her shoulders and a guarded look in her eyes. “That was very admirable work from all of you,” she affirmed, glancing at each of them in the eye. “But this can also prove itself to be a wild goose chase,” she warned, “a mere distraction to weaken our defences. The true enemy is the Klingons, and that should be our priority, no matter what Captain Georgiou means to all of you.” She side-eyed Michael as she spoke. 

 

“If I am to authorise this rescue mission, you have to understand that I will be putting Starfleet’s greatest asset at risk, albeit necessary. I must have your word that you will follow direct orders, and that you will willingly abort mission as soon as we instruct you to. Do I have your cooperation?”

 

Michael felt a weight of glances settling on her; not because she was the captain, but because she was the one who knew, and cared for, Philippa the most. It would be her word above anyone else’s as to whether they would consent to give Philippa up, no matter how close they were to reaching her. Everyone shifted uncomfortably as Michael paused, and sighed in relief when she dipped her head. 

 

“On behalf of my crew, I consent.” 

 

“Excellent. Then we can move on to assignments,” Cornwell took a step back, letting Michael take over the scene again. 

 

“I will be the leading the away team onto the Renaissance,” she declared immediately. “In fact, I believe there shouldn’t even be an away team. I will go -- alone. I know that Philippa -- Captain Georgiou -- would prefer to see a familiar face in order for her to cooperate with the mission. I was her Number One. I should go.”

 

“But Captain!” Protests flew across the room as her own crew hurried to urge her against the decision. “You’re the top of the chain of command here, we need you --” 

 

“It’s practically a suicide mission --”

 

“We need you here to command the Discovery! On the jumps!”

 

“That I’ll leave in the capable hands of Captain Lorca.” The older captain, having previously abstained from the discussion, looked up in surprise.

 

“As my crew would know, ever since Captain Lorca transferred from the Glenn, we’ve been treating things… as sort of a joint custody situation.” It hadn’t been something Michael was particularly proud of. In fact, she second-judged herself every waking moment, when she wasn’t busy studying the crew to estimate their favours for each respective captain. Insecurities were many when she, a black, female, newly-minted captain was towered over by a white, male, veteran Captain Lorca. In an era when equality amongst humans was only reaching stability, she often felt as though she had much to protect -- more for herself than her crew.

 

But she knew right away that Lorca would be the perfect choice to father the Discovery while she was gone, and for that, she was grateful for his presence. He was assertive, calculating, cunning -- a perfect choice when one had Klingons to outsmart and outlast. 

 

“He’ll stay here with Detmer and Airiam to pilot the Discovery while I go look for Phili -- the captain,” she corrected herself. “As for the dilithium, I trust that the admiral may kindly arrange it for us?”

 

“Our supplies aren’t ridiculously abundant, but we should be able to fork over enough to make a convincing makeshift mine,” she confirmed.

 

“Good. Tilly, I’ll need your help modifying those probes. Stamets, use what data you have from the Glenn and the tardigrade and prime the spore drive for maximum efficiency. As for the rest, stick to your stations and await orders. You’ll be getting busy over the next few days as we fine-tune our plans. Are we all clear?”

 

The chorus of affirmation gave Michael the strength to smile.  _ That _ was hope. 

 

***

 

“Captain.”

 

“Yes, Commander Landry, you wished to see me?” Michael looked up from the prototypes of the micro-probes, which looked extremely promising already, considering they were done under three days. She closed the display of the blueprints and attached simulations on her screen to greet her chief of security. “Has there been a problem?”

 

“You have to let me come on the rescue mission with you.”

 

“What?” Michael recoiled for a second before forcing herself to regain her composure. “Landry, I need you here,” she said, more calmly this time.

 

“Captain --” 

 

“You have to know that this mission is very, very dangerous,” Michael said delicately. “You have to expect that there are no returns if you come with me. One casualty is enough. To lose you as well… I can’t have that.”

 

“Captain, this isn’t a mission started from the goodness of your own heart. It was a unanimous decision voted upon by the entirety of those present. I think you have to treat it as such.

 

“I’m assuming you want to get to Captain Georgiou first because you care.... deeply for her. That is understandable. But you can’t sacrifice safety just to make yourself a hero. If you want any chance to get her back, feasibly, you’ll need your chief of security with you.”

 

Tears pricked Michael’s eyes as she watched Landry talk. The two had never been close, but that understanding, that loyalty that Landry showed was something that she had thought unfathomable, even as a captain. 

 

_ Was this how Philippa felt towards me and Saru? An endless stream of gratitude for unrequitable faithfulness?  _

 

She puffed a breath and nodded. “Very well, Landry. I’ll notify Admiral Cornwell of the changes.” 

 

*** 

 

Over the next few weeks, preparations began to take place as more and more pieces to the puzzle clicked in its place. Soon everyone aboard the Discovery kept busy; every crew member had a place to be and something to achieve. Those who weren’t priming the weapons system or refreshing older circuits took on multiple consecutive shifts -- the record being a giant run that lasted for four days before someone else was available to relieve them of duty. 

 

Those who had left their stations were buried in labs or holodecks, pulling equally as many all-nighters to perform experiments or refine the designs of the equipment needed in this elaborate plan. (Consequently, Tilly’s quadruple espresso became one of the most popular food items from the replicator menu, despite its constant chirps of protest to warn them otherwise.) 

 

Lorca and Airiam, with the bridge crew in tow, ran simulations to perfect every detail of the jumps they had to do, as well as the weapons they would need to fire in between some of them. They practised for all sorts of situations -- Klingon retaliations, the arrival of backup ships, and emergency spore shortages. Every time they perfected one situation, Lorca would wordlessly move on to the list without a word of praise escaping from his thin lips. If none of them had had Philippa in mind when performing their tasks, it may have seemed like thankless toil. 

 

As for Michael and Landry, they trained physically and mentally for the daunting mission that was soon to await them. From countless fitness sessions to battle simulations on the holodeck, their entire lives seemed to revolve around getting to know the mission and to match their strides to work with each other. They soon learned to make up for each other’s errors and help each other improve their weaknesses. 

 

Landry, after relentlessly working at her gym sessions, soon saw her stamina increase even more than the legendary levels they were originally at. Michael saw her kill count spike in holodeck raids as she got accustomed to the rhythm and pace of fighting within the dim setting of a Klingon vessel.

 

Soon phase one of the mission was launched, and exhausted as they were, no one on the Discovery slept as they tracked the progress of their dilithium Trojan horse. When they received an encoded message about a successful stationing from all the probes, about two hours later, everyone cheered and went to Ten Forward for a long drink. 

 

After a drunken night and a day off to nurse hangovers, the crew got back to work, in clockwork fashion. 

 

Now redelegated to helping Stamets, Tilly took it upon herself to analyse a heap of untouched data from the tardigrade to improve the accuracy and the efficiency of the drive. 

 

As the preparations grew nearer to completion, Saru found himself greeted with more and more crew members at his little counselling corner of Sickbay. He welcomed them all and kindly spoke to them until they left with a relieved smile. 

 

The bridge crew had moved their simulation sessions to a holodeck permanently, where they trained for long hours, leaving their actual bridge duties to the night shift. Landry was rumoured to no longer leave the gym, spending all her time there to build up whatever physical strength she would need to tackle ten Klingons in one fell swoop. Michael kept to her room in diligent meditation whenever her other training were done for the day. 

 

Dr Culber and a small team placed their finishing touches on self-aid equipment for Landry and Michael aboard the Renaissance, with their latest invention being a spore-activated undershirt that accelerated the healing of punctured skin and internal organs. He proudly showed it to the two ladies before having several replicated for them to keep. 

 

Concerns began blazing through the crew when Michael was nowhere to be seen a few days in succession. Saru found her cramped in her quarters half an hour later, her forehead knitted and shining with sweat as she focused on a complex meditation ritual, with an urgency so intense that it scared the Kelpien greatly. 

 

When Michael finally woke, she explained softly, brokenly, that she had been practising tok’mar -- an ancient Vulcan ritual of an attempt to bring lost souls back home. 

 

Saru understood. He gave her a tight embrace and encouraged her to not lose hope.

 

It wasn’t as though Michael didn’t have anything else to worry about, anyway. The probes soon gathered enough data to begin marking significant trends and predictions of where Philippa would be at any given moment, and Michael took it upon herself to sit vigil in waiting for the newest input by the probes, not missing a single update. Though she wouldn’t admit it, it wasn’t so much as the strategisable data rather than Philippa’s life signs that she was looking for.

 

A run-down, severely malnourished, but working heartbeat that pumped its way into the probes and to Michael’s vision as a darting line on her screen. To know that Philippa was  _ alive….  _ after all this time. 

 

That made any trouble of getting her back worth it.

 

The final touches came into place soon after. Michael and Landry had a strategy mapped out that was approved by Lorca and even the admiral. Engineering teamed up with the bridge crew to run the jumps for real. It took a bit of practice, but soon they were up to speed with each other and executed things flawlessly, meriting a high five and a group hug at the initiative of Tilly. 

 

Then, one day, Michael woke at a start, sensing a change in the air. Like the wind changing direction without warning, the bringing of something new into the mix. Almost two seconds later, an incoming message from the probes caught her attention. 

 

Apparently, it had also caught Lorca’s, Landry’s and Stamets’, because Michael found herself meeting with the four of them in her ready room at 0400 hours. According to their calculations, and the probes, it was the optimum time for infiltration. To get Philippa back.

 

It seemed the Klingons left her unattended for some reason, a festival of sorts. But there was no time to speculate. 

 

“So let me go through this once. Lorca, you take down the first defences of the Renaissance and lower their shields. Landry and I will directly beam up closest to Philippa’s last known location and start searching. Until then, your top priority is to keep the shields down so you can beam us back.” 

 

“And you try to keep Philippa away from battle stations,” Lorca said. “She is the Berserker, after all. Plenty of war plans up her sleeves. Just grab her and run.” 

 

Not long after, Michael was standing on her bridge, glancing over her crew for one good, long time. She made sure to take in each of their faces and memorise their expressions now -- that filled with determination, loyalty and love. It was fuel for her in coming days of loneliness aboard an enemy ship, so vast it may as well be a maze. 

 

“Thank you, all of you,” she said, meaning it. “I’ll see you on the other side of the war.”

 

“In one piece, please,” grunted Lorca, leading on the door of her ready room. For once in his eyes, Michael saw concern. She smiled at him as he patted her hand before she entered the turbolift.

 

The walk to the transporter room was a blur. She got into her position of standby, Landry by her side.. 

 

All that was left was for Lorca to bring that hell of a ship down. And then, Michael would find Philippa again. Oh, and perhaps hell would break loose between the two warring factions. But more importantly,  _ Philippa.  _

 

_ I’m coming.  _

 

In the eye of a storm, Michael felt only calm. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh so it's finally heating up >:) Took me 11 entire chapters to get anywhere close to a reunion. Please never publish my work in book form. 
> 
> Hope you liked it! The kudos and comments are always there, if you know what I mean ;) Of course, you can also hmu at @justmilippathings on tumblr! I don't bite, I promise.


	12. Fire and Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between writer's block, a heckin' busy schedule and a handful of depressive episodes, don't even ask me how I got this chapter out. It wrote itself, thankfully, I just followed along for a very bumpy ride. Enjoy!

“Bridge to transporter room. Prepare for transport.”

 

The Black Alert was the last thing Michael was conscious of of the world around her. The following 149 jumps, the rattling of the ship as it dodged debris from the Klingon flagship, and the continuous flash of the red alert did not penetrate her mind and she couldn’t process it. Much gripped her thoughts in a swarm of white noise that cancelled each other out. Only one image would resurface time and again as a drowning person bobbing from a current: Philippa.

 

Watching Landry’s silhouette adopt a golden hue as she materialised in a flash of light, it drew her mind from paralysis to hyperfocus — it was a fine line to walk between the two. She lifted her chin as she, too, felt herself transport. She felt ready. She was prepared.

 

_The best way to get into a cold stream is to jump right in._ Michael remembered these words Philippa told her the first time Michael was sent on an intercept mission. She knew that the thought was also in Landry’s mind as they surveyed the sector of the ship before them — dark and crusted with intricate Klingon designs. She breathed quietly, her nostrils barely flaring as she moved forward, phaser in tow.

 

“Have you connected to the probes?” she checked with Landry in a hushed voice. She paused, staring at the screen on her bracelet for a split second as it loaded, and then nodded briskly. “We will be warned of proximity and given directions to Philippa’s present location. She is alone, free-roaming, but presumably close to her quarters.”

 

“You have the universal translator activated?” With the help of Owoseskun, they had converted the clunky handheld model to an earpiece which allowed them to understand any spoken Klingon as the Federation Standard. Landry nodded again, tugging on her ear to show Michael. Satisfied, Michael tilted her head towards the corridor in front of them. “According to sensors, Philippa should be on this deck.”

 

The two of them crept slowly, checking around corners with a swift turn before dropping down to stay low to the ground. Michael felt her muscles clenching with every step they took. She stayed close to the walls but was careful not to brush against them. For all she knew, the Klingons’ sense of sound was not especially acute, but she could not put herself at risk of revealing where she was. Even one unpracticed breath seemed like a huge liability.

 

Suddenly Michael’s bracelet pulsed with the alert of Klingon proximity. Quickly she swivelled her head to confirm with Landry, who nodded and ducked underneath a structure, camouflaging herself in the dark. Michael did the same, pressing herself flat against a large cranny, praying that it wasn’t a trapdoor that would spring open and reveal her location. Her heart pounded with a thump-thump-thump as she listened, phaser poised.

 

“ _Humanpu' QIp! mIw yIlo'!_ ”

 

Michael jumped as a voice burst into her earpiece. She pressed one hand to her ear, listening intently, lying flat against her hiding place and holding her breath. She flinched as a thudding sound echoed through the halls, followed by a few duller thuds she could only interpret as punches.

 

“ _You’re nothing but a puppet! Another one of Chancellor L’Rell’s playthings! A war strategy! You do not give me orders!_ ”

 

Some more scuffling was heard before a groan shot through the air, and another one as the Klingon, now within eyesight, threw his leg back and kicked as hard as he could.

 

Michael’s breathing elevated as she listened on to what was going on around her, unable to leap out and fight. She stayed there, waiting, waiting, as the Klingon stumbled away with a snarl, his shadow looming high over the walls as he moved. In the meantime, Michael kept her eyes on her bracelet. As soon as the proximity alert was off, and only one other life sign was detected near them, she leapt from her place, running loudly, as fast as her legs could take her, all threats of discretion set aside.

 

“Burnham, wait!” Landry hissed after her, barely able to wriggle out of her space and catch up.

 

As soon as they turned the corner they saw a fallen figure in front of them. Michael paused. She slowed her step, crouching to slowly approach it. Then the figure began struggling, standing until Michael saw a full glimpse of its face -- its bloodied, bruised, human face. At that moment Michael struggled to swallow as she stood in disbelief. She kept her phaser raised but her voice wavered when she attempted to make a noise.

 

“P-Philippa?”

 

Philippa looked up at her, very much alive, real, and receptive to stimuli. Michael could barely believe it as she crept closer toward her former mentor. Real. Alive. There was so much to say --

 

“Michael?” Philippa spoke in a broken voice, in equal disbelief and wonder. Michael watched, her jaw wide open, as a solitary tear rolled down her scarred cheek.

 

“Michael!” Landry warned, motioning to a golden diadem on Philippa’s forehead. It was flashing rapidly, seemingly electronic. Then, a sharp squeal was emitted, and Philippa’s entire body jolted once, then twice. When she looked up again, her eyes had changed. What had once carried the liquidity of humanity was now dark and dead. Mechanical, hopeless.

 

_So this was how they controlled her…_

 

The Berserker’s mouth unhinged in a cry as she charged towards them, her ba’leth gleaming in the light.

 

***

“C-captain!”

 

“What are we seeing, Owoseskun?”

 

“Enemy Klingon ships approaching, and fast! Apparently, the Renaissance sent out a distress signal before it lost primary systems.”

 

“Bryce, open an encrypted channel to the admiral. Ask for the Andromeda, the Charon, the Ares, and all other ships within the vicinity. Go!” Lorca’s voice was steady as he spoke, with only the slightest shake to betray his worry — or his rush of adrenaline, with the dawn of another battle at his fingertips. This one would be one worth remembering.

 

“Detmer, evasive manoeuvre pi-alpha-omega. You’ll have to use your instincts on this one,” he said, giving the red-haired pilot a quick nod. “Airiam, what’s the fastest way we can take down those two birds of prey at once?”

 

“Coordinates sent to Helm,” she replied before he had even finished his sentence. He dipped his head to her, momentarily shocked, but also filled with gratitude.

 

“Let’s do this.”

 

“Hell yeah, let’s do this!” At the exact moment, Tilly and Stamets came bursting out of the turbolift, seemingly out of breath. Upon quizzical stares, Tilly took it upon herself to offer an explanation. “Oh, well, we heard that the jumps were a success, so following phase 2 of the training, we’re here to assist with the aftermath—“

 

She was jolted against a wall violently as the Discovery shook with the impact of a collision.

 

“Shields holding at 90%!” announced Owoseskun quickly.

 

“Detmer!”

 

“Working, captain!” she cried hastily, her fingers working expertly over her screen.

 

“The Ares and the Andromeda have dropped out of warp,” called Rhys. Sure enough, the ships in joining them had plunged themselves into the battle right away, firing red-hot weapons at the incoming bird of prey with a fury previously unknown.

 

Tilly’s eyes lit up with realisation as she remembered that Philippa was raised on the old Walker-class ship before taking over the Shenzhou as the captain.

 

“They’re coming,” Airiam breathed, her voice almost raw with awe. “This is really happening,” added Detmer in the same fashion.

 

“Then we have no time to waste,” Lorca said, his eyes gleaming with determination. “Owoseskun, get me visuals. Rhys, keep those weapons hot and running, and target the Renaissance. Detmer, fly sharp.”

 

“Tilly, Stamets, do we have anything on Burnham yet?”

 

“Nothing. Comms have been down, it must be the debris interference,” Stamets reported with a frown, sorting through a panel. Lorca pursed his lips. “No matter what happens, the Discovery won’t leave without your captain. We’ll just have to find a way to stay alive until then. I believe Burnham would take the opportunity to say… that’s what being Starfleet is about.”

 

***

Michael’s mind was blank, with pure muscle memory operating her body as she dodged and lunged at Philippa.

 

She knew her captain’s strategies all too well. All that time spent on the Shenzhou sparring came back to her, those early mornings and late nights, where two women mutually consented to sacrifice their personal time in order to spend it with each other. Self-defence was simply a cover for time spent bonding. Needless to say, they got to know each other very well through sparring.

 

Now the time was paying off, and to Michael's advantage as well. Some of the moves she knew precisely how to predict and avoid. Philippa enjoyed using her legs to aim a sharp kick, but Michael was ready to deflect that with a steady arm. Some of the moves were new, she could tell, because they were less precise and powerful, and very traditionally Klingon. How she would keep charging forward like a bull at an arena. How she would use her torso to push against Michael’s punches.

 

Philippa fought with ferocity, Michael found, that she could barely counter as she pushed her deeper and deeper into the corridor, but with no soul. There was no meaning behind any of her movements, only that it was to kill. It was systematic, mechanical. With that in mind, Michael couldn’t even focus on the fight, only how much Philippa was not herself. Amongst all other things, Michael could only notice how thin her legs looked, and how sunken her face was. Her body, whenever it pressed against Michael in a wrestle, was emaciated at best, and heaving with exhaustion that was only uncharacteristic of the usually fit woman.

 

_Philippa, Philippa… what have they done to you?_

 

“Ah!” Michael heard a scream rip through the air before realising it was her own. Philippa’s ba’leth had dug into her cheek, and she already felt the blood mixing with her sweat and sliding down the side of her face. With a roar, Philippa ripped the weapon out before lunging again, only to miss as Michael darted out of the way.

 

“If you wanted a fight…” Michael hissed, holding her face, “you would do it without so much as a dagger. Or would you rather hide your incompetence behind a ba’leth?”

 

The weapon fell to the floor with a clang, but Michael barely had time else to react before she had to face the full wrath of Philippa’s body. Her grip was strong on Michael’s wrist as she flung her a few feet down the hall.

 

All instances of martial arts Michael had ever learnt from the Vulcan Training Center came rushing, pulsing hot, back to her mind. It used to be the lesson she hated the most, simply because it was the one she was the best at. No other Vulcan enjoyed martial arts as well as she did, for they preferred book learning -- receiving knowledge. This difference in preference already set Michael apart in an uncomfortable way and she shunned this gift of hers. But now, she relied on every single manoeuvre she’d been taught to navigate the Klingon-taught moves Philippa threw at her, the side of her cheek still throbbing numbly, and clinging onto every breath she took, in a scramble to stay alive.

 

_Two humans taught to act upon widely contrasting principles of life. When stoic logic and a passion for honour clashed, it was as though fire and ice met at the same time._ Vulcan and Klingon. They were both and neither at the same time.  

 

From the corner she heard a thundering of footsteps as more Klingon fighters approached the area. “Burnham!” Landry called in warning.

 

The pair quickly locked eyes. One second later, Michael broke away from her duel with Philippa and rolled onto the ground, aiming her phaser at their lower torsos. Two bursts took down one Klingon.

 

All that happened next was all part of the training the pair shared over the weeks. Their strategies of aiming high and low, shooting far and near, picking off individuals or sweeping down masses at once. They came and Michael had never felt such fury within her as she fended them off with a practised precision.

 

As the troops dropped like flies, she barely had enough time to catch her breath before --

 

“Watch out!”

 

Philippa tackled her from behind, clinging onto her back so quickly that the air was knocked out of Michael’s lungs. But Michael threw her off almost easily, pinning her down and pressing her close to her own chest.

 

She had her.

 

“This way,” Landry mouthed, ducking into a small area before Michael, wrestling a wriggling and shouting Philippa, followed.

 

“Landry to Discovery. We’re clear to transport.”

 

“We can’t get a lock onto you, you’ll have to move to somewhere more open,” Owoseskun’s’ desperate voice came in snippets through the communicator.

 

“Owo, are you crazy? It’s a bloodbath out there!” Michael hissed, barely able to talk with a flailing Philippa tight in her grasp.

 

“I’m sorry, captain, no can do! We’ll keep your life signs targeted.”

 

Landry shut the communicator with a hefty sigh.

 

“If we expose ourselves, we won’t be able to make it out fighting. We’d sooner die,” Michael hissed desperately.

 

Landry was silent for a second, and then she spoke. “No, let’s get out there and get out of here. I have a plan.”

 

“What?”

 

In the gleam of the dim light, Landry’s eyes bore the most surety Michael had ever seen.

 

“Okay. What do you propose?”

 

From her neck, Landry ripped off a dog tag on a chain and pressed it into Michael’s palm. Following it, her own phaser.

 

“What --”

 

“Just keep firing.” Before Michael could even question what was happening, Landry had already pushed her outside, herself following suit.

 

“Captain, we have you. Prepare for transport.”

 

“Landry?”

 

As Michael materialised, phasers hot and going, her surroundings flashing gold, she turned just in time to watch Chancellor L’Rell lunge at the three of them. Landry moved faster than she did. In the next second, her body fell hard against the floor of the deck, a Klingon knife pierced square in her chest.

 

The next thing she knew, light consumed Michael and she found herself back in the transporter room of the Discovery.

 

Dr Culber and a team surrounded her, pulling a writhing Philippa from her arms and onto a rollaway cot. As her agonising screams filled the space, Michael found herself quickly calling after them. “The diadem! You have to get that off of her…”

 

They exited the room without so much as a second glance at her, too urgently fixated their patient.

 

Suddenly, Michael felt a wave of weakness catch up to her, and she fell to her knees. Clutched still, tight in her shaking fist, was Landry’s phaser and her dog tag.

 

Landry.

 

She whirled around but there was no one else on the transporter pad. Michael found herself gasping with an agonised horror, tears flowing down her blood-caked cheek as sobs began to ravage her broken body.

 

_Landry was gone._

 

“Did we do it? Did we get her?” Saru and Tilly had charged into the transporter room, or at least their voices had, for Michael’s vision had begun to fade and she saw nothing but blurry shapes approaching her

 

“Her…”

 

Philippa. They had Philippa. Captain Philippa Georgiou, presumed dead, was alive and breathing on the ship. Landry was gone but Philippa was here. Philippa. She was here?

 

“What?”

 

“Michael!”

 

Michael did not know if her body hit the ground or Saru’s arms first. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, for she had lost her senses before she reached either.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pumps fist in the air* We did it! We did it! We did it!
> 
> Up next: extensive hurt/comfort. 
> 
> I kill characters as quickly and unexpectedly as the writers killed off Airiam. You can say I stay true to the... nature of the show. Kill count: 1 if you don't count the handful of unnamed officers on the Glenn. Not too bad for 12 chapters in.


End file.
